


Complicated Shadows

by oldtrustylegs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 145,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6835588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldtrustylegs/pseuds/oldtrustylegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new Muggle Studies professor comes to Hogwarts and Severus Snape is intrigued. Her purpose at the school and the growing darkness, however, complicate everything. SS/OC, loosely canon compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Life

**Author's Note:**

> I originally published this story on FF.net back in, oh, 2006. It was finally completed in 2012. A couple of weeks ago, I decided to go back and read it again and found I wanted to make some edits and share it with a somewhat new audience. While the story is complete, I will probably only post a few chapters at a time to give me time to work with the text. 
> 
> All that being said - I can't wait to share this story anew and to hear your feedback!

A new life. This is what she was here for. The death of her husband had rocked her. While he’d been 30 years her senior and she always knew he would go before her, she had never quite been able to get rid of that idealistic sense of hope that they’d had more time than that. They’d only been married for three years, hardly a dent in her lifetime as she was now 26 and a widow.

Which was why she was currently stepping onto Platform 9 3/4 to board the Hogwarts Express where she was to take up a post as the new Muggle Studies professor. The rather eccentric headmaster had thought a trip on the train would be an enlightening experience for her, rather than simply apparating or flooing in to the school. She was American and had therefore not attended Hogwarts, but rather the Salem Academy of Witchcraft in the northeast corner of the country.

She looked at the red locomotive currently belching steam onto the platform with no small amount of distaste. She was not very fond of riding by train, she’d had a horrible experience on the Eurostar train two years previous where the train they’d been riding in had inexplicably broken down in the Chunnel. She wasn't claustrophobic, but it was enough to make her think she was. Images of water crashing down on top of her had flooded her brain in mere moments, the unfortunate side effect of having an overactive imagination and a naturally paranoid outlook on life.

A new life, right? She heaved a sigh and boarded the train, quickly found an empty compartment and settled in for the long ride ahead.

What seemed like days later, she awoke to the feeling of the train slowing down for Hogsmeade Station. She gathered her things and stepped off the train to much cooler weather than what she’d been enjoying in London. Before she could put her things down to pull her coat on, an older woman in black robes approached her.

“Samantha Collins?” She asked, her Scottish accent making itself immediately evident. Samantha nodded and smiled in acknowledgement. The woman was probably in her sixties or seventies, her graying hair pulled severely back in a bun secured at the base of her neck. She wore glasses perched on the tip of her nose and instantly reminded Samantha of her dearly departed mother-in-law. “I'm Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.”

“Good evening, Professor McGonagall,” Samantha replied, offering her hand. The older woman took it obligingly and offered a tight smile. McGonagall already seemed stressed to her breaking point, a bleak sign when taking into account the fact that the school year hadn’t even started yet.

“Come along, we’re taking a carriage up to the school,” McGonagall explained as she turned towards the station exit. She seemed aggrieved at having to travel in such a manner.

“Another of the headmaster’s enlightening experiences, I take it?” Samantha ventured a guess. 

McGonagall gave a long suffering sigh.

“He is so very fond of making a lasting first impression,” the professor answered with a roll of her eyes.

However put-upon the professor may have seemed, Samantha was glad of the suggestion as she was rewarded with a view of the castle in the last throes of sunset. She’d seen castles, to be sure, but none so impressive as the structure that loomed before her. The turrets seemed to pierce the coming darkness, while the lake reflected the last vestiges of the day in its depths.

The thestrel pulled carriage made its way to the massive front doors of the castle, stopping to allow its passengers to step out.

“The house elves will see to your bags,” McGonagall said as they mounted the steps. The large doors opened for them and she continued as they walked. “We shall first pay a visit to the headmaster and then I will show you to your rooms.”

Samantha paid her no mind as she was now gawking at the cavernous entrance hall with which she was now faced. McGonagall stopped at the top of the stairs to allow her young companion to regain her senses and catch up. Samantha quickly did so and followed the deputy headmistress to Headmaster Dumbledore’s office.

“Peppermint patty,” intoned the witch when they reached a gargoyle Samantha assumed was the guardian of the office. Her assumption was proven right when the gargoyle leapt aside to reveal a winding staircase.

“Enter,” she heard an aged, but congenial voice call when McGonagall rapped on the door.  
Samantha was taken aback by the sheer oddity that was the headmaster's office. A massive desk stood at the top of a short flight of stone steps, next to which was a large perch which currently had a pile of ash beneath it. In another corner, there was a table filled with odd silver gadgets that whirred, hissed, popped, and made all number of other noises as they spun and puffed away on the table. There were portraits lining all walls of the office, some were dozing while others eyed the newcomer with interest.

“Ah, Professor Collins,” the headmaster greeted her warmly as he descended from his desk. 

Samantha could think nothing else than that the eccentricity of the office was personified in the form of its occupant. The headmaster wore deep purple robes with hems of gleaming silver. His long white beard was secured with a length of cord at the end of which were baubles of varying sizes and colors.

“Samantha, please,” she smiled as she took the headmaster’s hand. Despite his age and outward appearance, she could feel the power he still possessed. He wasn't the defeater of Grindewald for nothing, after all.

Hesitating for a moment, Samantha spoke again.

“And I think it best I use Professor Rhodes,” she said. At the headmaster’s look of confusion, she explained, “My husband has recently died and while I am not ashamed of having married a Muggle, I felt that reverting to my maiden name may stop any scandal before it started.”

“I am sorry, my dear, I was unaware of your loss. Please accept my condolences,” the headmaster said as he led her to an armchair in front of the fireplace. “Please, be seated.”

He took the seat opposite her, while McGonagall sat herself in between the two.

“Thank you, headmaster. I also wanted to thank you for hiring me on here, despite my lack of teaching experience.”

“Nonsense, Samantha, we all must start somewhere. Your credentials are far and away enough to recommend you. Not to mention that having spent the past five years in the Muggle world will certainly aid you in your subject. Our last Muggle Studies professor was a pureblood who, while fascinated by the Muggle world, did not exactly have a full grasp of his subject,” Dumbledore chuckled in remembrance of the poor man.

“I should hope so,” Samantha agreed with a soft laugh. “Perhaps I will be able to extracurricularly indulge in my area of expertise if your Potions professor does not mind sharing a little bench space.”

McGonagall and Dumbledore shared a nervous glance before both took a deep breath to speak.

“I shall speak with Severus and see what arrangements can be made. I would hate for you to sacrifice your research in order to teach outside of your chosen area of study,” Dumbledore interjected before McGonagall could voice her opinion on the likelihood of the Potions professor wanting to share a castle, much less bench space.

Samantha quirked an eyebrow. She knew the name and the man’s reputation, but smiled in response to the headmaster's assurances all the same. Surely her expertise in the field would get her foot in the lab, so to speak.

Professor McGonagall showed Samantha to her rooms, letting her know that a house elf could fetch her anything she needed.

Her rooms were certainly more impressive than anything she’d imagined. Her idea of a boarding school teacher’s lodgings was more akin to that of a monk than the luxurious suite in which she now found herself. She had a sitting room decorated in rich hues of burgundy and dark woods complete with a large fireplace against one wall. The room had large, exceedingly comfortable armchairs with a matching sofa as well as a smallish circular dining table set into bay windows with three chairs sitting round it. Empty book cases, which certainly wouldn’t be empty by the time Samantha had finished unpacking, lined an entire wall in front of which stood a desk with a large leather desk chair behind it.

Samantha opened the door to her bedroom only to be even more enamored by the environment she was to live in. A large four poster bed stood impressively in the middle of the room, its dark green curtains tied back to reveal the entirely too large bed. The stone floor was covered in an area rug to ward off the cold and a wardrobe stood in the corner of the room with a chest of drawers next to it.

Sufficiently pleased with her rooms, Samantha summoned a house elf to obtain some food. She’d not eaten since that morning and after the day’s excitement, was now feeling the effects of having done so.

The next day found Samantha in her classroom, attempting to clean out some of the rubbish that had been building up in its disuse. Apparently the noise she created in her efforts attracted a prowling visitor.

Severus Snape was spending a few moments of his morning walking off his breakfast when he heard clattering coming from one of the classrooms. He had suspected it to be Peeves, as the students had not yet returned from their summer holidays to overrun the castle. Snape pulled his wand from his sleeve and silently entered the open classroom. What he saw was completely unexpected.

The woman had been attempting to lean over a desk to pick up her fallen sweater when Snape entered. Snape’s rather enticing view, then, was of her backside as she bent over one of the student’s desks. He debated for a moment whether or not he should make himself known, when the woman apparently accomplished her task and righted herself. Pity.

Samantha stifled a gasp when she turned to find a man darkening her doorway. A phrase aptly applied to the man currently staring unashamedly at her; he had lank black shoulder length hair and wore austere black robes that covered him from head to toe.

Snape was surprised, to say the least, to find the young woman in the castle. His summer had been spent away from the castle with unwanted company in his home in Manchester. He could only assume the woman was the new Muggle Studies teacher given her manner of dress, which, in his opinion, was entirely inappropriate for a teacher. Her black sleeveless shirt had a v neckline and sank entirely too low and, although giving him a very nice view of her cleavage, did not lend itself well to teaching teenage boys. Her entirely too form-fitting jeans were finished off with a pair of what he deemed to be dangerously tall heels.

“Who are you?” Snape asked without preamble. He knew who she was, of course, but he had never been in the business of advertising what he knew about a person and why he knew it. 

Samantha was thrown off balance for a moment by his forthright approach, but quickly regained her center.

“Samantha Rhodes,” she said, striding forward with her hand outstretched. “I'm the new Muggle Studies teacher.”  
“Indeed,” Snape responded, grasping her hand. He gave her a firm shake before dropping her hand. Samantha looked expectantly at him for a moment, before giving him a crooked smile.

“And you would be?” 

He did not appreciate her tone, but given his gaffe in not introducing himself he uncharacteristically did not give her the tongue lashing he thought she so richly deserved.

“Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master,” he answered stiffly. Her face lit up upon hearing his name, certainly not a reaction he was used to.

“Ah, just the man I wanted to see.” Snape was at a loss. “You see, my field is actually Potions, but seeing as you’ve already got the job I’m stuck here,” she said, gesturing to the room around her.

“Indeed,” Snape said again.

Samantha shifted awkwardly in the silence, wondering if he was waiting for her to speak.

“I have some research of my own that for a number of reasons I’ve had to put on hold, and I was wondering if perhaps you had some spare lab space you could relinquish for my use,” she said in quite a rush.

“And why should I give up my valuable space and ingredients to accommodate you?” Snape sneered at her.

“Well,” Samantha started. She didn’t like to tout her own accomplishments, but if it persuaded him to open his lab to her, she’d shout her own praises from the rooftops. “My research has found some favor in the field. I have been published, you may have heard of me by my married name - Samantha R. Collins.” 

A flash of recognition flared in Snape's otherwise cold eyes.

“You were working on an improved Wolfsbane, if memory serves,” Snape recalled. 

She nodded and favored him with a bittersweet smile.

“That would be me, although I’m almost regretting having started down that road. I’ve received hate mail from pureblood wizards who think attempting to ease the pain of so-called half-breeds is beneath any magical being worth his salt.” Samantha laughed mirthlessly. “Honestly, as if they couldn’t even acknowledge the intrinsic worth of the research itself. How many new potions have come out of breakthroughs in seemingly unrelated studies?”

Snape was impressed despite himself. The woman was young, but her work on the Wolfsbane potion was undeniably brilliant.

“The hardest part is finding willing werewolves to test on. Most are either so scorned by the wizarding community that they have forsaken it altogether or have let themselves be drawn in by the rot Voldemort is spinning for them. I don’t dare go near that lot. While I’d like to help them I wouldn’t fancy being one myself.”

“I think I may have the answer to your problem, then, Professor Rhodes," Snape started thoughtfully. “I have these past three years been brewing the Wolfsbane potion monthly for a werewolf that I know for a fact will not willingly inflict any harm.” 

It pained Snape to say as much after his experiences with Lupin in his fifth year, but he also recognized Lupin’s intensely sympathetic nature. Coupled with his longing to be relieved of the curse of his transformation, he would make for more than an adequate test subject.

“Really? How fascinating! I have about a million questions for you, but no time to ask them at the moment as I am still trying to get my classroom in order for next week. Would you have any available time to share with me some of your notes on the potion?” Samantha asked excitedly.

Despite the fact that Snape guarded his free time jealously, he found himself unable to turn down the prospect of doing research with a fellow scholar in his field. It had been years since he’d published, let alone done any real substantial research.

“Perhaps tomorrow afternoon after lunch will suffice?” Snape asked, Samantha immediately bobbed her head in response. “Very well, I shall meet you in the entrance hall and escort you to my lab.”

“Thank you, professor. I look forward to it,” she said sincerely as she turned back to her classroom.

“Professor Rhodes, one last thing, I do hope that you have more suitable clothing for when the students arrive,” he said as he pointedly eyed her current outfit.

“I do, I’ve just been living in Muggle London for the past few years so my professional wizarding attire leaves a little to be desired. I’ll be heading down to the village before school starts to remedy that.”

“Very well, until tomorrow then.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” Samantha agreed with a smile as Snape went on his way down the corridor.


	2. So It Begins

Samantha did not attend lunch in the Great Hall the following afternoon, owing to the uncharacteristic bout of nerves she was facing regarding her impending meeting with the Potions Master. She didn’t often allow people to let her feel inferior, so she had no idea why, all of a sudden, this man who hadn’t said so much as five words to her was able to make her feel like a block of ice had taken of residence in her stomach.

She also couldn’t fathom why she was making so much trouble over her appearance. There was something about the man that sparked in her a desire to look and act her best. She didn’t know why, he certainly didn’t make any effort with his appearance (though she did have to admit that his robes fit him impeccably and were obviously custom tailored) and he definitely never gave a second thought to his manners. Why in Merlin’s name did she care, then?

Perhaps it was an unconscious need to impress her new colleague. She always felt as if she had something to prove in every new environment she had ever been thrust into. It was the same in graduate school, until her professors begged her to please stop writing at such a prodigious rate. Her marriage had also been a proving ground, of sorts. Not due to her husband, but rather to everyone else who were convinced it was doomed to fail because of their age gap, the fact that he was a Muggle and she was a witch, or any other number reasons her family and friends had thrown at her when they’d been informed of the impending nuptials.

This train of thought brought Samantha down the stairs and face-to-face with the very subject she’d been brooding over.

Severus Snape had been brooding as well, but that was more or less his natural state, so no one ever bothered to question it. He heard the telltale click-clack of Samantha’s heels on the stone steps as she made her way over to him. He’d had his back to her, placing a mask of studied indifference over his features as he stared fixedly at the hour glasses that housed the point totals of each house.

She stopped right behind him and cleared her throat. He turned slowly to face her, his mask firmly in place. Her cheery smile slipped slightly at she caught sight of his face, but was replaced just as quickly as it had faltered.

“Good afternoon, Professor,” she said by way of greeting. He merely jerked his head irritably, which she took as a nod. Though for a moment she thought he might have had a twitch.

“Professor,” he responded coolly. “This way.”

And he was off, his robes billowing menacingly behind him. Samantha struggled to keep up with his long strides, but was soon able to match them. She’d had practice, given that her late husband had been quite tall himself and was given to bounding about. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude; he had just been so full of life and vibrant energy that he never stopped to think that anyone wouldn’t simply keep up. Which was very likely not the same reason Snape was walking at such a pace.

By the time they reached his dungeon laboratory, Samantha’s heart rate was at an elevated level, but she was doing her best to make damn sure that Snape didn’t know he’d been able to outpace her.

He quietly murmured the password as he released the wards on his private lab. As he opened the door and stepped inside, Samantha caught sight of the lab. She was pleasantly surprised to find that while it was housed in the dungeon of the castle, it had been cut into the cliff side, allowing for the placement of windows along one wall.

The lab itself was much as she’d expected it. Two long wooden tables stood in the middle of the room. They were well-worn and had their fair share of burns and nicks, but were none worse for the wear. The floor was of the same sturdy stone as the rest of the castle, which was actually a good thing given that there wasn’t very much one could do to stone that would terribly damage it. Two walls of the lab were lined with cabinets and a long stretch of shelves upon which were various phials and measuring instruments. There were three doors, one which they’d entered from, and two others. She assumed one lead to either his office or classroom and the other to a storeroom.

She noticed two cauldrons, each over a low flame, on one of the tables on the far side of the room and began to move towards them. Her movement was stopped quite abruptly, however, as Snape quickly planted himself in front of her, arms folded over his chest.

“I believe we are here to discuss your research,” Snape said, peering down his crooked nose at her. She faltered for a moment before regaining her equilibrium.

“Of course, Professor. I was just being nosy,” she responded good-naturedly. She thought he might have had the good grace to not verbally agree, but she was proven wrong by his next words.

“Yes you were,” he said bluntly. “And I’ll thank you not to do it again, or you will have to find someone else to accommodate your whims.”

Samantha violently bristled at his implication. Whims, were they? She was doing serious research and he had the gall to call her life’s work a whim? He really was as insufferable as a man could possibly be. However, she valued the help – whether it be in an academic capacity or merely giving her bench space – he might offer and was wise enough to keep her mouth shut.

She took a deep breath and launched into her research. Soon they were both sitting at one of the tables, discussing both her notes on the potion as well as his past experiences in brewing it. Samantha had brewed the potion a fair number of times, but most of her knowledge was in theory. Snape, on the other hand, had brewed it countless times and had notes on any anomalies that had occurred within each batch.

Samantha found that once she got him talking about potions, he really was much more agreeable. His perpetual sneer was gone, but the intensity she’d instantly noticed the moment she met him remained. They heatedly discussed every aspect of the potion, from temperature to ingredients to the finer points of counter-clockwise stirring. What truly caught her off-guard, however, was the very evident passion that Snape had for potions. She’d seen him as being very aloof and very unlikely to be willing to show passion about anything in front of anyone. It was thrilling for her to simply be in the room with him when he was in the throes of academic passion.

She realized then that this was the first time she’d been able to have a truly academic conversation in her given field in quite some time. While it was true that she had continued doing research whilst living in the Muggle world with her husband, her contact with the wizarding world had suffered. Research for her had been a solitary activity. Simply her and her books, her theories, her mind. She found herself reveling in having found a sounding board for her ideas. No matter how bad-tempered and ill-mannered that sounding board could be.


	3. On A Sunday

The Sunday prior to the start of term dawned bright and crisp. Samantha rose early to ready herself for church. She had received not a little criticism from some of her magical colleagues for continued adherence to her faith, but it had generally come from otherwise prejudiced purebloods. Samantha had been raised Catholic and after slacking off in her Mass attendance during her years at Salem, she had once more become a practicing Catholic upon graduation. Her husband had not been of any faith and had never considered converting, but he nonetheless consented to marriage in the Church. And it was the same church at which they’d been married that Samantha was preparing to leave the castle for.

Samantha made her way down to the vast entrance hall and out the enormous front doors to the school. Snape looked on from the entrance to the dungeons with what some would call interest, though he preferred to call it necessary information-gathering on a new colleague. She was dressed well, though conservatively. Her attire reminded him of a phrase from when he was young, “Sunday best.” He hadn’t a clue where she was going, but surmised it wasn’t Hogsmeade given her strictly Muggle clothing. For a moment, he entertained the notion of following her, but thought better of it and continued on to the Great Hall for breakfast.

As soon as she had secured the gates behind her, Samantha apparated to a secluded section of the graveyard that sat adjacent to the church. She straightened her clothing and stepped onto the walkway that led out to the street. The graveyard belonged to the Anglican church that occupied the town centre. The fourteenth-century church had been confiscated from the village Catholics during the Reformation. Once the atmosphere had cooled and enough Catholics had recongregated in the town, a second church was built a block away. It sat in a row of buildings that wound their way up the street. Apart from the bas-relief depiction of the Crucifixion carved above the church’s entryway, it was indistinguishable from the community center and the rectory that flanked it.

Samantha entered the church from a side door. The stone walls and floor o kept it cool year-round and it smelled perpetually, and comfortingly Samantha thought, of incense and candles. She dipped her fingers into the holy water font and crossed herself. She walked up the center aisle, nodding and smiling at those she knew, genuflected, and took a seat in her pew (in her mind it was _her_ pew; she had, after all, been sitting in it for seven years of Sundays). Just as she finished the first decade of her rosary, the bell rang to start Mass.

As the last strains of the recessional hymn faded, the assembled congregation began to filter quietly out of the church. Upon reaching the door, however, the parishioners appeared to be making up for lost time and boisterously greeted each other as some ventured across the street to the Boar’s Head for an early afternoon pint.

“Good morning, Father,” Samantha greeted her priest as she took his hand and kissed him on the cheek. Having known the man for nearly a decade, he had become a grandfather of sorts to her.

“Samantha! I am delighted to see you,” he said, returning the kiss. “How is, well, you know.”

“It’s going well,” Samantha replied, catching his drift. She’d told him not long after she’d met him of her magical abilities. Given that the man knew just about everything about her, she figured he might as well know about that part of her as well. He had been apprehensive at first, the Catholic Church’s track record with witchcraft did not recommend itself well. After getting to know her better, however, he’d come to describe her magical abilities as a rare gift from God. And the idea of an entirely magical world? Well, priest though he was, he wasn’t one to put limits on creation. She was grateful for his support and acceptance of such an intrinsic part of her life.

“I’m glad to hear it. How have you been?” He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She gave her priest a tight smile, thankful that he had not put into words why she might be in need of comfort. He remained to be perceptive, as always.

“Thank you, Father. I am settling in.” She lowered her voice to tell him more specifically just how she’d been doing. “You would never believe this place, Father. My school was nothing like this. The castle is bigger and, literally, more magical than anything you could imagine,” her eyes lit up as she described all that she’d seen in the short week she’d taken up residence at Hogwarts.

“I can't tell you how happy I am to see you so excited,” he said as he kissed her forehead. “You really needed this, didn't you? Contact with your own, that is.”

Samantha nodded, glad that he understood.

“With my parents gone and now – now Mark, there really wasn't much left for me. This,” she gestured to the church, “gave me some comfort, but I needed to get back on my feet as a…you know. And I’ve already gotten the chance to talk about my research with a brilliant colleague in my field. I don’t mind saying that I feel a breakthrough coming within the year."

“That would be wonderful,” her priest answered.

She had apprised him of her work at some point during their acquaintance, though she could scarcely recall what could have possibly been said to bring them to the topic of werewolves. While he had been astounded, and more than a little frightened, to hear that werewolves did in fact exist outside of Hollywood, he had been intrigued by the idea of it and supportive of her efforts to relieve their suffering.

“Do keep me updated on how things are going. Will I still see you during term or are you going to find a closer church?”

“Given my method of travel, it really doesn’t make a difference,” she said with a laugh. “If there are any problems with absenting myself from the school every Sunday, I shall certainly explain my circumstances to the headmaster. I can’t imagine he would not accommodate my request.”

“Good, good, I'm glad to hear it,” he said, patting her hand.

“Well, I must be off, I still have much to do before the students return.”

She gave his hand a final squeeze and walked back to her apparition point. With a pop she was back in front of the imposing Hogwarts gates. Samantha pulled her sweater more tightly around her and began the trek back to the school.

After dropping her belongings in her room, she headed straight to the Great Hall for lunch. She had, after all, not eaten anything all day and was famished. She took a seat at the round table in the middle of the hall that replaced the long benches during the holidays. Other staff members slowly began to filter in, many discussing last minute preparations for term. One Severus Snape was the last to enter, characteristically alone, and took the last empty seat, which happened to be next to Samantha. She was busy loading up her plate with the house elves’ latest gastronomic offering.

“Professor,” she nodded to him as he seated himself. He grunted in response as he poured himself a cup of tea. Samantha pursed her lips and gave up the ghost of holding a conversation with the man.

“You went out this morning,” he said suddenly. He wasn’t looking at her; his face was a mask of studied nonchalance.

“Yes,” she replied simply, “I did.” ‘Two can play at that game,’ she thought to herself. Samantha watched as Snape’s lip twitched, whether in amusement or annoyance, she couldn’t tell. She waited to see if he would inquire further into her whereabouts. When he did not, she returned to her food.

As the meal continued, the other teachers present asked after her and offered their assistance in settling in. All the while, Snape remained quiet, though obviously listening, and sipped his tea. He really hadn’t a clue why he’d decided to take his lunch in the hall. He wasn’t even hungry, he could have just as easily made his own pot of tea in his rooms and not have to deal with the inane chatter of his coworkers. But here he was; drinking tea he could have made himself and listening to inane chatter he could have avoided.

When he’d entered the hall and saw the empty seat next to Samantha, he had every intention of at least saying something to her. As he had found during their discussion about her research, she did make an adequate conversation partner. And he was, admittedly, curious about her mid-morning excursion. Of course, he’d had no intention of asking her directly, but it could have simply slipped out in the midst of a discussion. Much to his chagrin, however, his observation had spilled out of his mouth without so much as a by your leave from his brain. But then she’d gone and did what _he_ always did to deter others from trying to talk to him. It was maddening and he was in no way going to dignify it with a response. No matter how badly he wanted to. She would not make him actively seek to engage her in a conversation. No way. Especially if it had to do with banalities concerning whatever it was she was doing leaving the castle this morning. Even if she wasn't going to Hogsmeade, he really had no interest in what she did with her free time. None whatsoever. Even if he did wonder why she smelled faintly of, what was that? Incense? It blended rather enticingly with what he gathered was her perfume. It really did make a pleasant…

Damn it all! He put his empty teacup back in its saucer rather more roughly than was necessary and brusquely left the table. Most simply ignored his somewhat customary behavior, but Samantha eyed him curiously while a certain set of twinkling blue eyes watched him with interest as he strode out of the hall in the direction of the dungeons.

And in his dungeons he was, as Dumbledore later found him after he’d finished his meal. Snape was bent over a potion in his lab and Dumbledore leaned against the door frame to wait for his now second youngest teacher to finish his task before addressing him.

“Care to tell me what that teacup did to you to merit such treatment?” He asked benignly.

Snape’s back stiffened when he heard the headmaster’s voice emanating from his open door. He knew there was a reason he usually kept it closed. As Snape turned around, he saw that Dumbledore has entered the room and started to wander about, picking up various bottles, reading labels, and doing everything but looking at his Potions master.

“May I help you, Headmaster?” Snape finally ground out. Dumbledore looked up in feigned surprised, as if he’d forgotten Snape was even in the room.

“Ah, well, yes. Samantha informed me that you and she discussed her research.”

“Yes,” Snape answered carefully. He knew the headmaster well enough to know that he should only give direct answers, preferably of the one word variety.

_“And?”_ Dumbledore prodded.

Snape squinted at him, as if that would make his machinations any clearer.

“And we discussed her research. Is there something specific you need to know?” Snape asked as he plucked a bottle out of Dumbledore’s hand and set it back on the counter.

“Nothing specific, I just wondered if it had gone well, what with your behavior at lunch.”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew, he just _knew_ , he should have stayed in his rooms.

“There is nothing to tell. We discussed her research and that is her space,” Snape answered, pointing to a cleared space on one of his tables.

“Good, good,” Dumbledore murmured absently as he glanced in the direction Snape pointed.

Snape squinted once more and found that it worked no better this time than it did before.

“Headmaster, is there –”

“Very well, I’ll be off then,” Dumbledore said as he began walking back to the door.

Snape could swear his walk was positively…bouncy. Brow furrowed, he spun on his heel to resume his work. Before sinking into his brewing, he pulled his wand and shut the door and, hearing it lock with a sharp click, returned to his blessedly silent cauldron. Even as he continued his work, however, he could swear he still smelled a hint of incense and what was that? Roses? He forced a harsh breath out of his nose in annoyance. It was going to be a long year.


	4. Sixth Year

The first day of September crept up on the Hogwarts staff and, once more, the ancient halls were packed with noisy, rambunctious children, who, while not eager to start their classes, were happy enough to see their friends after the summer holiday.

Severus Snape, however, was not happy to see any of them. Well, he wasn’t often happy to see anyone, but he reserved a special kind of displeasure for children. Being a head of house, he was forced to suffer through the Sorting Feast every year. Between his school years and time on the staff, he had sat through nearly twenty-five of them. He gave perfunctory applause for the students sorted into his own house and merely stared morosely ahead for the remainder. He once thought to himself that he could make a mint betting on the Sorting Hat’s decisions; he’d only been wrong twice out of the measly thirty children entering the school. A number so small made it clear to all that these were dark times, indeed.

While Snape was less than indifferent to the annual sorting ritual, Samantha, whom Dumbledore had seated strategically between Snape and Remus Lupin, was intrigued by both the house system and the process by which children were sorted into them. The houses had, of course, been explained to her already, but she found it interesting that house loyalty did not end with graduation. She could not count the number of times she had already heard Snape use the word “Gryffindor” as a blanket insult. It was hard to believe that the decisions of this hat could so profoundly shape the lives of all who sat under it. She thought that perhaps eleven was a little young to be sorting the children, but Hogwarts had been doing this for centuries, so who was she to question their system?

Once the sorting had finished and Dumbledore given his opening address to the students, which included wild applause from the Gryffindor table upon learning that Remus Lupin had been reinstituted as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, mounds of food appeared upon every table and the noise level dropped drastically as the children fought to fit as much food as humanly possible into their mouths at once. It looked almost as if they'd been going for some kind of record.

Samantha noticed quite early on into the feast that a boy with glasses and a mop of dark hair was staring daggers at the Potions Master sitting to her right. Suddenly, recognition clicked and she realized that the boy was very likely Harry Potter. She leaned over to ask Snape if her supposition was correct.

"Yes," he said shortly, a sneer clearly in his voice as well as on his face.

She looked at him thoughtfully, wondering why the two clearly hated each other. While she had been living in England for enough years to know the basics of the story of the Boy Who Lived, she, unlike the rest of the Hogwarts population, had no idea about the relationship, or lack thereof, between Snape and the boy. She wisely decided to not press him on that account.

"And the red-head, that's Weasley?" She asked, watching as the young man rather dangerously wielded a chicken leg in each hand, nearly hitting on more than one occasion the bushy-headed girl sitting beside him.

"One of many," Snape said, "and Granger beside him."

"Ah," Samantha answered vaguely. "Is it just me, or does Weasley bear a striking resemblance to a hamster who's just prepared himself for a long winter?"

A sputter of laughter escaped from Snape's lips. He quickly clamped down on the amusement that was beginning to show clearly on his face when he noticed that he was drawing the attention of students. The mask slid back on his face as easily as it had disappeared moments before. It would not do to let his students, especially those whom he knew had taken the Dark Mark over the summer, see him so casually joking around with the new Muggle Studies teacher; especially a Muggle Studies teacher who also happened to be getting steadily closer to a cure for lycanthropy.

Samantha eyed him curiously. She was already acquainted with his unpredictable moods – even if they only seemed to swing from taciturn to openly hostile – but his mood tonight was different. She'd thought him simply to be naturally disagreeable in most of their conversations prior to the start of term, but now he seemed to be actively seeking to be as intimidating and unpleasant as possible. Although she was keen to know why he put on such a show for the students, she already knew better than to ask him.

Despite her years of research and the countless papers she had presented at conferences, Samantha still found her nerves getting the best of her as she made her way to her classroom the morning following the Sorting Feast. She could speak intelligently to a room full of colleagues; men and women who were masters in their fields and yet, she found teaching a room full of children about Muggles to be a daunting task.

Luckily, her first class was a rather small group of third years. Times such as these made Muggle Studies a highly unpopular elective. Muggleborns didn't bother taking it, unless they wanted an easy pass, and most purebloods were warned away by their families or, failing that, their peers. Still, despite the fact that the majority of her small class seemed highly uninterested in what she was teaching them, there were a few that had signed up for the class with a genuine interest in learning about Muggles.

As the day wore on, Samantha found her nerves slowly calming down. She had small classes and not a single student took the course beyond OWL level. Though objectively regrettable, Samantha was rather glad that she wouldn't have to deal with the sixth and seventh years. She was not surprised to find that the fourth and fifth year students were somewhat thrown off by the change in curriculum from their previous years in the subject. Samantha was well aware of the previous instructors' emphasis on showing magical children how Muggles "coped" without magic. To Samantha, who had been married to a Muggle, it smacked of condescension. Instead, she focused on cultural differences and included some comparative history along the way. It would mean nothing to know all about what electricity was if the students had no idea of its origins and its impact on Muggle society. She wanted to think it was a more interesting and, ultimately, more meaningful curriculum.

By the time classes ended on Wednesday afternoon, Samantha thought she was home free. That was not, however, to be. When taking her normal seat at dinner that evening, she saw a rather conspicuously empty seat beside her. While Snape was not particularly talkative at dinner, she had grown rather used to their monosyllabic conversations throughout the various meals of the day. She decided, however, that it was high time she'd introduce herself to her other dining companion, Remus Lupin. Perhaps it would be nice to be friendly with some of her other colleagues, and he certainly seemed to be a student favorite.

"Professor Lupin," she said, mentally smacking herself for having managed to strike up a conversation just as he had shoveled a massive forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. She saw his eyes crinkle as he tried to grin around his food and put up a finger until he managed to swallow.

"Remus, please," he answered. "Samantha, right?"

"That's right. I apologize for not having introduced myself already. You'd think I'd have had the chance by now between meals and our start of term staff meeting. This is my first teaching job, however, so I've been kind of caught in my own headspace, know what I mean?"

Lupin nodded knowingly.

"Quite alright," he assured her. "I remember well my first year teaching. It was…eventful."

She had to admit, her curiosity was raised when he went no further, but he didn't seem keen to give her the full story and allowed him to continue the conversation.

"How have your classes been thus far?"

"I think they've gone well. There's nothing to tell, really. They're quite small and I only teach the third, fourth, and fifth years. It's been wholly unremarkable. Which is, perhaps, a blessing, much as the subject is sorely needed these days."

"I do have to tell you," Lupin began conspiratorially, "I have some of your fourth years right after your class and I've heard some talk about the class."

_"Really?"_ Samantha replied, slightly unnerved by the fact that she'd already become gossip fodder for the students. "And what might they be saying?"

"Well, the first day, they seemed a little annoyed because the class didn't seem like it would be as easy as it has been in the past." Samantha rolled her eyes at this. "But today I heard one of them say that they'll definitely take it at the OWL level if you're still here next year."

"Indeed. Well, at least one student thinks I'm doing something right."

"It's a start," he responded with a laugh.

Their conversation ended abruptly when she spotted Dumbledore get up from his chair and motion to her to follow him. The grave look on his face made her stomach fall, as did the slight pause he gave when his eyes fell on the empty chair next to her. She stood up and followed the headmaster to his office.

"I have a favor to ask of you," he began as they sat down. She leaned forward and nodded, urging him to go ahead. "Severus has taken ill and will not be able to teach for at least the next day or two. Given your Potions expertise, I would like for you to take on his classes."

Samantha gave a start. Snape out sick? He didn't seem the type to call in sick, especially not in the first week of school. But she wasn't about to say no. The headmaster had been kind enough to give her a job when she had no teaching experience and Snape had been, well, not kind, but uncharacteristically accommodating in giving her lab space.

"Of course, sir," she replied. "Just out of curiosity, which classes will I be teaching?"

"Between Thursday and Friday, you will have all of his classes. Friday will be trying, however. You will have two classes of Double Potions, both for the Gryffindors and Slytherins, sixth and seventh years."

She winced at the very idea of having to teach either class, much less back to back. Suddenly, a thought hit her.

"And what about my classes? Will I have to cancel?"

"No," he said brightly. "I will be looking after them."

"You?" Surely he as the headmaster had no time to look after Muggle Studies classes for two days.

"I offered to step in for Severus – I do know a thing or two about Potions – but he insisted that I ask you," Dumbledore answered. Well, that was interesting.

"Did he, indeed?" She asked, trying to picture the scene in her head and feeling a smile tug at the corner of her mouth for her efforts.

"Come to think of it, though, I rather doubt he'd have wanted me to tell you that, so let's keep it between us, shall we?"

Samantha nodded and started to stand up.

"If that's all, then?"

"Yes, my dear, that is all. Thank you."

Samantha turned to leave, but stopped.

"Um, sir, if you don't mind my asking, what is wrong with Professor Snape?"

Dumbledore gave her an odd look and did not answer right away.

"It isn't really my place to answer that question." Samantha quirked her head at his response. "I do apologize for the secrecy, but Severus does guard his privacy rather jealously and hates to reveal any weaknesses. I am sure even in the short time that you've known him that you can understand."

"Of course, Headmaster," Samantha replied. She could very well imagine Snape not particularly enjoying admitting that he would be incapable of teaching his own classes. Still, she knew that Dumbledore was holding back and that there was more to this story than an ordinary illness. However, she didn't feel it was her place to press for information.

"Before you go, Severus wanted me to give you his lesson plans. I'm not sure if it was meant as a kindness or to ensure you didn't destroy his classroom," he said as he handed her a stack of parchment.

"I am sure he would be insulted if I took it to be kindness," Samantha replied with a laugh. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, my dear. And good luck!"

And so it was that Samantha found herself in the dark, cool dungeons the following morning, nervously awaiting the Gryffindor and Slytherin third years. She had finally gotten over her anxiety about teaching, only to have it return three-fold the following day. Although the students were surprised to see someone other than Snape standing at the front of the class, she couldn't help but notice that they all looked distinctly relieved.

Much to her surprise, and pleasure, the first day of Potions went by without a hitch. She found that she quite enjoyed teaching the subject and, though she knew it was unfair, felt a little disappointed that she would have to go back to Muggle Studies the following week. That was, however, until she had suffered through sixth year Double Potions. To be sure, the seventh years were little better, but they didn't have the volatile combination of Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. She had not been entirely aware of the animosity between the two boys prior to the class, but she was well aware with it by the time class was over. On top of keeping an eye those two, she was keenly aware that Hermione Granger was coaching the Weasely boy through every step of the potion.

"Miss Granger!" She finally snapped, causing the girl to jump. "While you may feel justified in your desire to allow Mr. Weasely to skate through this potion, he will learn nothing if you continue to feed him information. If you do not stop immediately, I will be sorely tempted to give you detention for disobeying instructions and to Mr. Weasely as well for allowing you to do it!"

The redhead's face soon matched his hair and she saw the telltale pink spots of embarrassment color the girl's cheeks. Samantha wasn't particularly fond of reprimanding students (she honestly hadn't had to do much thus far in her classes), but she wasn't about to allow something to occur that she absolutely knew Snape would not have tolerated. That was no way to maintain her lab space.

Not ten minutes had passed before the next incident occurred. She saw the suspicious look on Malfoy's face before he had even executed his plan, which seemed to consist of sabotaging Potter's potion. Samantha slowly moved to stand in front of the platinum-haired boy.

"Mr. Malfoy," she began in a deadly quiet voice. He raised his head with a look of disgust contorting his pointed features. Samantha's eyes flashed in response. "If I were you, I would first wipe that smug look off my face before I am stuck scrubbing cauldrons for the evening. I would then reconsider my plan to throw that shredded mess into Potter's cauldron, if not least because it would blow us all to kingdom come."

Malfoy at least had the grace to look mildly nervous for a moment before he was back to his customary sneer. Samantha rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed with his display. She knew of his father through the _Daily Prophet_ and found herself not much charmed by his spawn.

Samantha continued to move about the room for the rest of the class as she found standing at the front of the class would clearly not deter the students from getting into mischief. By the time the period was over, her nerves and temper were completely shot. She felt like she had just spent the past two hours supervising a prison chain gang. Yes, she knew she would never once even contemplate testing Snape's patience on Friday evenings.

She sluggishly made her way through dinner, carrying on a blessedly brief conversation with Lupin, who had been nothing but sympathetic once he'd heard what class she'd had to teach that afternoon. Once she returned to her rooms, her head had barely hit the pillow before she fell asleep. As she was drifting off to sleep, she thought vaguely that if she were still alive in the morning, perhaps she could get some work done in the lab.


	5. The Truth Comes Out

Somewhat to her surprise, Samantha had indeed survived the night, though she still felt rather ragged from the hellish experience that was the sixth year Double Potions class. She pulled herself out of bed and into the bathroom. The hot shower did wonders to ease the tension in her back and shoulders and she felt the last vestiges of sleep slip away thanks to the robust mint scent of her conditioner. She also found herself asking for a rather robust cup of coffee from the house elves after she'd dressed for the day.

Freshly washed and finally awake, Samantha made her way down to the dungeon lab to put in some work on her potion. She had no idea what kind of shape Snape was in or if she'd run into him while down in what he clearly saw as _his_ dungeons. She made it down to the lab without spotting the Potions Master, though she did pass a skulking Draco Malfoy along the way. She wondered if there was a time when he _didn't_ look like he was up to something.

Lifting the wards on the lab, Samantha entered to find the room completely empty. In fact, apart from her own workspace, there were no other bubbling cauldrons or ongoing projects. Snape was never one to leave a mess behind after brewing, but she had seen potions under stasis charms the previous two visits she'd made down to the lab (even if she'd never seen the man himself in said lab). She found it hard to believe that he had simply finished everything he'd been working on, particularly because she'd been teaching _his_ classes for the past two days owing to his supposed illness. She had to admit, if she'd been roped into teaching Potions for two days – despite the fact that she'd quite enjoyed the first day of it – because Snape wanted to catch up on his own personal work, she would be very displeased with him. Very displeased, indeed.

Samantha brushed aside her displeasure and got to work on her potion. Though not without muttering to herself that she certainly didn't have the gall to skive off on her own classes because she wanted time with her research. As she settled into the routine motions of stirring and chopping, Samantha forgot her anger and lost herself in her work. It was something her late husband had complained about from time to time as she had the habit of not even acknowledging someone who was speaking directly to her.

Apparently Snape was no more pleased with this habit. And, of course, he would never admit to having the same bad habit. He had come to the lab to brew a simple headache potion, only to find her clanging around and completely ignoring him as he was trying to speak to her.

_"Professor Rhodes,"_ he finally ground out, even as a fresh wave of pain hit him when he did so. Her head snapped up.

"Professor Snape," she answered breathlessly. He had given her quite the shock, she hadn't even heard the door open. She took a moment to look over him, if only to confirm that he had, in fact, been ill. And she had to admit that there was no way he hadn't been. Ragged didn't even begin to cover it. He looked like death itself. Of course, he never looked particularly charming on a regular basis, but now his face was white as a sheet, dark smudges circled his eyes, and his hair was even lanker than usual. The darkness of the dungeons only accentuated his gaunt visage.

His eyes passed over her work and with the raise of an eyebrow, he harrumphed and went about his own business. Samantha watched as he pulled out a cauldron and various ingredients, the combination of which clearly pointed to a headache potion. Feeling a little guilty over her previous anger towards him, she put her quill down and approached him.

"Professor, allow me," she said, placing a hand on his to still his movements. She spoke softly, knowing well what set her off when she had a headache. "A headache potion, am I correct?"

"I don't need to be taken care of," he answered with a sneer.

"And I don't want to take care of you. I am offering assistance. I don't particularly enjoy brewing while suffering from a headache myself."

Snape grunted his response, but allowed her to take charge of the operation. He had to admit, she was exceptionally proficient. She effortlessly prepared the ingredients, though her face never lost the look of complete concentration on her task. It wasn't a particularly difficult potion, but she was giving it the same attention she would a cauldron of Wolfsbane (and he knew well the concentration that required, having just brewed it the day before). He mused that it would probably be the most exquisite batch of headache potion he would ever have.

Soon enough, she was extinguishing the flame under the cauldron and decanting the potion into a flask. After waiting a few moments to allow it to cool, she conjured a glass, measured out a dose of the potion and handed it to Snape. He downed it quickly and sat still, his eyes closed, and finally felt the tension in his temples ease.

"Label and date that," he instructed her. She hid her triumphant smirk by turning her back on him on the pretense of retrieving labels that she knew to be in a drawer directly behind where he sat.

"Feeling better, _sir_?" She asked rather cheekily as she labeled the potion. She had no idea why she kept up such formalities with him. Apart from the headmaster, she was on a first name basis with every other faculty and staff member. He, however, had never extended an invitation for her to call him anything but "professor." Still, she wondered where all the "sirs" were coming from; he certainly never used such niceties with her.

"Yes," he answered, sounding as though he were reluctant to admit it. As she returned to her work, he found himself unwilling to leave the lab. He thought through what he could possibly brew in order to occupy himself, if only to put off having to think about _why_ he didn't want to return to his rooms. Snape decided to brew some potions for the hospital wing, even if he knew very well that Madam Pomfrey was far from needing her stocks replenished in the first week of term.

As the two silently tended to their potions, Samantha felt a rising irritation, though it took her some time to figure out its cause. Suddenly it hit her. She had just spent the past two days teaching his classes – the worst of the lot at that – and he seemed to have absolutely no intention of asking her how they went or, much less, to thank her for doing so. She honestly never expected a thank you, but she had thought he'd at least inquire about how she got on.

"Your classes were…tolerable, by the way." She knew he would probably interpret her remark as a personal insult, but she found that she didn't particularly mind it. Sure enough, the look he sent her way told her everything she needed to know about what he thought on the matter.

"Tolerable?" He asked silkily. "I suppose teaching Muggle Studies hasn't presented the same challenges as Potions does, has it?" He was right, she knew it, but that wasn't about to keep her from getting her hackles up. She was also quite sure that he'd intended the comment as an insult.

"At least _my_ students don't try to kill each other at every given opportunity," she replied.

"Unlike you, apparently, _I_ don't give them the opportunity," he said haughtily. Snape knew that wasn't entirely true, the little miscreants saw everything as an opportunity. At this, she rose from her stool, trying to instill a little authority into her appearance, even if she paled in comparison to the rigid wall of black wool that faced her.

"Given who was involved, I have to say that at least in my class, I am trying to put a stop to the beliefs behind it."

"And I suppose the three students taking your class are going to put centuries of bad blood to bed?" He asked darkly. From what she'd said, he knew exactly which class it was and who the culprits were. He also knew that he would have had little chance of dealing with them any better than she could have. If he really wanted to be honest, Samantha had more freedom to discipline Malfoy than he would ever have. However, he began to feel his anger get the best of him. She had no idea who she was dealing with, nor what he was doing to end the hostilities. Having spent the past two days recovering from a punishment at the hands of the Dark Lord on top of brewing Wolfsbane for Lupin, he had no patience left for her accusations.

"Well you've clearly allowed your Slytherins develop the worst of intentions toward the other houses. That only makes the problem even worse, especially once these students graduate. You're letting loose another generation filled with blood prejudice," she said, her teeth bared as she bit the words out.

To say he was incensed would be the understatement of the century.

_"How dare you,"_ his voice was filled with quiet fury. "You have no idea what you're talking about. I have my reasons for the way I deal with _my_ students and I'll thank you to keep your foolish lectures to yourself."

"Foolish?" She cried. "I've only been here a week with the students and I've already seen all I need to see!"

"You have seen _nothing_!" He roared. To her credit, she didn't even flinch at his barely restrained rage. Not that he was in the mood to give her credit for anything.

"What am I missing, then?" She yelled back. Her lungs were simply incapable of reaching his volume, but she did her best. "How could what you're doing benefit _anyone_?" She knew she was treading on very dangerous ground, but she seemed to have lost the ability to control her reaction.

" _This_ ," he hissed as he roughly pushed up his sleeve to show her the Dark Mark burned upon his left forearm.

Samantha gasped and scrambled back from him as quickly as she could, knocking over a number of stools along her way, her face a picture of unconcealed horror. She pressed herself against the wall furthest from him, looking for all the world like she was trying to go through it. He knew he never should have shown it to her, but for reasons he didn't want to identify, he'd felt the need to make her understand.

"This is what you're missing," he said, his voice suddenly quiet. He pulled his sleeve back down, straightening his cuffs as he did so in an effort to compose himself.

If she didn't know better, she would say he looked defeated. His voice was barely audible and his shoulders appeared to slump forward. He fell heavily onto one of the stools and stared at his hands on the worktable in front of him. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the wall and tentatively approached him.

"How…why…" She couldn't figure out how to ask him any of the myriad of questions that were swirling around in her head.

"Does the headmaster know and, if so, why does he let me continue to work here?" He asked quietly, glancing up at her quickly before returning to his inspection of his hands. He sighed. "Yes, he does know."

"But then…" She began, still not knowing where to go from there. She didn't know whether or not she should be surprised that he was a Death Eater. He _was_ Head of Slytherin, after all. Even in her short time immersed in the British wizarding world, she'd become aware of his house's reputation. Suddenly, he looked up at her and held her gaze. It was as if he were trying to read her very thoughts. And then she felt it, a presence in her mind that was not her own. She closed her eyes and turned her head. "Don't do that."

"I apologize," he nearly whispered. She knew she should be furious with him. That she should be storming from the room directly to Dumbledore's office. For some reason, however, she just couldn't find it within her. "I needed to know before I explain," he gestured to his arm, "this."

"Needed to know what?" She asked, picking up one of the stools she'd knocked over and sitting across from him.

"If I could trust you," he answered simply.

"And?"

He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

"I _was_ a Death Eater."

"Well, I gathered as much," she responded sharply. And then she realized what he'd said. _"Was?"_

He nodded slowly, still trying to formulate his explanation. He didn't know how much he was really willing to tell her.

"Yes, was. I am no longer…" he paused in an effort to choose his words carefully, "loyal to the Dark Lord."

"Then who _are_ you loyal to?" She knew it was an impertinent question, but asked it all the same.

Snape held her gaze for a long time and then abruptly broke eye contact to continue to stare at his hands. Her eyes followed his and she watched as he tightened his hands into fists several times before he answered.

"The headmaster," he said at last. "Before I say anything more on that account, I feel I should explain why you are here."

She quirked her head at this.

"What do you mean, why I'm here?" She asked, clearly confused. Then it dawned on her. "I'm not here _just_ as a Muggle Studies teacher, am I?"

"Correct," he answered with a nod. "I am sure you cannot be ignorant of the significance of your research. You present a rather enticing target for the Dark Lord."

Her eyes widened a fraction at this, but it was hardly surprising. Attempting to cure a condition that Voldemort had planned on using as a weapon would certainly not endear her to the madman.

"I am here for protection, then," she surmised. Snape shrugged. "Then what am I here for?"

"You are _useful_ ," he said in a hollow voice. "You are here to finish your potion."

"Lovely," Samantha deadpanned. She wasn't nearly as affronted by his explanation as she thought she should be. "And what is your use?" She asked.

He was not entirely pleased that she'd seen right through him.

"The Dark Lord does not yet know that I am no longer his loyal servant," Snape explained simply.

Samantha mulled over his response, knowing exactly what he meant. Still, something was tugging at the edge of her mind. Some inconsistency that just didn't add up.

"What if my husband had not died? I had no intention of reintegrating into the wizarding world while he lived."

A pained look crossed Snape's face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"I already told you that are a Death Eater target," he began. "Your husband did not simply die."

"Oh my God," Samantha gasped. How had she not seen the signs? Felt the dark magic when she'd come home to find him dead? And didn't Death Eaters claim their murders?

Snape saw the witch's mind work furiously to process the information he'd just given her. He knew he was acting against Dumbledore's wishes, but he found he didn't much care at this point.

"That was a strategic move, they had no intention of allowing you to know that he'd been murdered," Snape explained. "The Dark Lord wanted you on his side. He knows you are talented and he knows that you are a pureblood. Rather than simply kill you, he wanted to use you. Knowing that he killed your husband would have done nothing to further his plan."

Samantha laughed hollowly.

"Well, that isn't much better than what the headmaster is doing, is it? Granted, he didn't kill my husband, but he certainly took advantage of the situation, didn't he?"

Snape hoped that his body language did not let her know just how much he agreed with her.

"Why did you act as if you had no idea who I was when we first met?" She asked, it was yet another inconsistency that came to mind as she continued to think over everything she'd been told.

"I honestly did not know who you were at first. I'd never met you nor seen your face before. I didn't know who you were until you told me your name."

"So you weren't simply reminded of all of my brilliant journal articles?" She asked sardonically. He snorted in response. "No, you were reminded of my dead husband and the target on my back," she continued, her voice suddenly sounding very tired. She sighed and rested her head in her hands. She would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation had she not had every other emotion she was capable of feeling running through her at that very moment. "And I suppose you weren't supposed to tell me any of this."

"No," Snape answered quietly. "I was not. And before you ask, I do not know why I did."

"I am glad for it, though," Samantha said, placing one of her hands on his. She was certain he wouldn't think much of her touching him, so she was surprised when he did not immediately jerk his hand out from beneath hers. Instead, he allowed her hand to rest on his for a moment before pulling away and standing on the pretense of checking the progress of one of his potions, which had turned to sludge in the cauldron because of his inattention.

Samantha stood as well, moving slowly back to her cauldron and notes. Luckily, her potion was at a wait-and-see stage. She placed a stasis charm on it and began to tidy her notes.

"I think I need…some time," she said as her gazed flicked briefly to Snape's left arm. He felt a pang of guilt twist his insides when she did so.

She finished clearing her workspace and left the lab, giving Snape one last look before she closed the door behind her.

'Well,' she thought to herself as she climbed the stairs back to her office. 'So much for getting some work done.’


	6. Revelations

Though "puttering" didn't often describe the actions of Severus Snape, it was precisely what he found himself doing once Samantha left the lab. His attention was not really on the potion he had tried and failed to salvage. Rather, he was attempting, in vain it seemed, to determine why on God's green earth he'd found it necessary to compromise his own position, and perhaps even his life, by outing himself as a spy to the woman. His inability to explain his own actions to himself was both frustrating and frightening. After all, what kind of spy was he if he could not control his own actions in the face of nothing more than a Muggle Studies teacher?

He was well aware that that wasn't fair. She was much more than a Muggle Studies teacher. Her post was nothing more than a convenient cover for the true purpose of her presence in the castle. She was highly intelligent, extremely talented, exceptionally infuriating, and attractive to the point of distraction.

_Oh_. Well, that wouldn't do at all. Relieved though he was to have seemingly reached his conclusion for his inability to behave as he should around her, that conclusion was right at the top of his list of Very Bad Ideas. Forming an attachment – reciprocated or not – to one of the Dark Lord's most wanted was potentially life threatening and _incredibly_ stupid. Not to mention that he'd experienced enough one-sided and ultimately doomed attractions in his life that he certainly didn't need to allow this one to fester. No, this needed to be nipped in the bud _post haste_ , if only because it would be yet another facet of his mind that he would need to keep cloaked from his erstwhile master. As if he didn't have enough on his mind already.

Still, he could do some good, and perhaps deflect some of her attention away from him. He summoned a piece of parchment and a quill and sat down to write a note to his _dear_ _friend_ , Remus Lupin.

Samantha found herself in rather the same predicament as Snape once she was safely ensconced back in her office, though her thoughts were of a markedly less romantic nature. She marveled at the amount of information and insight that she had gleaned in the scant hour she'd been in the lab that morning. Death Eaters had murdered her husband, she was a personal target of Voldemort, and one of her colleagues (and, indeed, the one with whom she was most well-acquainted) was a Death Eater turned spy for the headmaster. _Some morning_.

She remained to be surprised at how calm she felt about the whole situation. She had experienced a moment of terror when Snape revealed his Dark Mark, but pushed past her horror at the sight of it more quickly than she'd ever thought possible and probably prudent. Perhaps it was how swiftly he seemed to deflate after showing it to her. The remorse radiating from his slumped figure had been palpable. If it _was_ an act, she was certainly thoroughly convinced. What's more, she could not get out of her head his reason for revealing all that he had: he simply didn't know. Severus Snape did not seem the type of man to own up to not knowing something, especially when it came to something so personal as his own actions. It would take some time to hit upon anything even resembling a plausible answer to that quandary. For now, however, she needed to get back to work on grading her students' first written assignment.

True to form for the day, she had barely settled into her grading before hearing a knock on the door.

"Come in," she called without getting up.

"Good afternoon, Samantha," came Lupin's congenial voice from the open door.

She looked up and smiled softly. There was something inexplicably calming about his mere presence. In this respect, he was certainly the polar opposite of Snape, who inspired tension and, in some, fear the moment he darkened a doorway.

"Remus, hello," she answered, standing to greet him.

"No, please sit," he said, motioning his hands to illustrate his words.

"What can I do for you?" She asked. Samantha was confused by his answering smile.

"Actually, quite a lot," he responded. "Severus has just sent me an owl letting me know that there could be some significant benefits to my letting you in on my secret."

"Do tell," Samantha said conspiratorially. "Sit." Lupin sat in the chair to which she gestured.

"Well, I guess I should just come right out with it. I'm a werewolf." Lupin had once found these words nearly impossible to let bounce around in his head, much less speak aloud, but in this situation, they flowed out effortlessly. It also helped that Samantha did nothing but smile in response. He was all too used to the looks of terror and disgust that usually followed on the heels of such an admission.

"Ah, so _you're_ the one he told me about," she said more to herself than the man seated before her. To his questioning look, Samantha continued, "Professor Snape mentioned before the start of term that he was acquainted with a lycanthrope who presented no danger."

"Did he really?" Lupin responded, sounding somewhat amused. "That is high praise coming from him. He has a certain, and admittedly well-founded, wariness of me. But that is a story for another time. How can I help you help me?"

"Mind being a guinea pig?" Samantha asked with a laugh. "I would never dose you with anything that I had any suspicion of being dangerous, but there really is no way to finally test it without the help of someone in your condition."

"I would fully accept the risk of taking any experimental potions," he answered seriously. Samantha nodded.

"Excellent. Well, first I'd like to ask you about your experience of transformation both with and without Wolfsbane. I have only ever been able to converse with one other werewolf on the matter and he has, sadly, since passed. I'd like to determine if there is an appreciable difference in the experience from person to person. Perhaps you could also shed some light on that."

"I can," he said. "I don't pretend to be an expert, but I will do my best to give you the information you need. I am also in contact with some others of my kind. They are generally wary of contact with the wizarding world, but I am sure they will make an exception for this."

"Trust me, anything will help." Samantha moved aside her stack of grading and opened her notebook to begin taking notes. With quill hanging above the top of the page, she looked up at Lupin expectantly.

"Yes, well, let me think," he said, trying to organize his thoughts. This was not a subject he generally spoke about. "I can tell you that it is infinitely more bearable with the potion. I feel more, how should I put this? More aware, I think. I remember everything the following day, whereas without the potion, I am completely out of touch with my human nature and I run on pure instinct."

"That is much as my previous informant has said." Lupin looked disappointed. "You mustn't misunderstand. It isn't that you aren't giving me anything useful; you are confirming another's explanation of the experience and giving me some insight as to how each of you understands your condition. This is important to know when developing the potion. While Wolfsbane may ease the transformation for virtually all werewolves who take it, a potion to cure it is significantly more complex in nature. Many different diseases or illnesses require different kinds of treatments for different people based on how their body reacts to the medicine. This is especially true in the Muggle world. While we don't encounter this nearly as frequently with potions and other magical cures, I still need to make sure that I am covering all of my bases."

"Well, anything to help," he said, sounding relieved. "I am much indebted to Severus for brewing the potion for me. As you are aware, he was very unwell over the week and still was able to finish it. I have to say, I was nearly out of my wits thinking that I might have to transform without it."

"Professor Snape brews it for you?" Lupin nodded. Samantha hummed to herself as she sat in thought for a moment. "Remus, what was really wrong with him? He looked positively wretched when I saw him this morning, but he didn't have a single symptom of an oncoming illness all week that would possibly put him into such a state."

Lupin shifted uneasily in his chair.

"Samantha, I'm not sure–" he stopped when she raised her hand.

"I should tell you that I have been made aware of his position with regards to Voldemort," Samantha said. Lupin's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. "Now, what happened?"

He continued to look apprehensive about divulging Snape's secrets. He was sure, however, that as she already knew of his extracurricular activities, she would come into the information one way or another.

"He was summoned."

"Summoned?" Samantha asked, not entirely acquainted with Snape's specific responsibilities as a spy.

"By Voldemort. Periodically, he will summon his Death Eaters to report on their activities and to inform them of his plans. Unfortunately, these meetings also often include meting out punishment to those he believes have disappointed him. Punishment comes generally in the form of torture."

"Oh my God," Samantha gasped, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. Tears sprang unbidden to her eyes. She barely knew the man, but she was still horrified by the idea that he had been tortured at the hands of Voldemort.

"Yes," Lupin answered sadly. "It has been happening more frequently as Voldemort has increasingly required more information than Severus is able to give. He was subjected to a rather prolonged bout of the _Cruciatus_. It is a favorite of Voldemort and his followers."

"That's horrible. No wonder he had a headache this morning."

"I'm afraid headaches are the least of his worries. You did not see him immediately after his return to the castle."

"What is it like?" Samantha asked. She knew the mechanics of the curse, of course, but had never knowingly been in contact with someone who had suffered under it, and surely not experienced prolonged exposure.

"Uncontrollable tremors, cold sweats, vomiting, nightmares, and muscle pain that would bring a lesser man to his knees, if not his death," Lupin explained. "We can be only too thankful that Severus is not a lesser man."

"He most certainly is not," Samantha said with feeling. "He really is on our side, then, isn't he?"

"Dumbledore trusts him," Lupin answered simply. "That is all _I_ need to know."

Samantha caught the implication of his tone. "Not everyone is convinced, I take it?"

"Unfortunately Harry has inherited a grudge against him. Severus never really gave him a chance to begin with, but, in his defense, he does have a role to play. He couldn't exactly have cozied up to Voldemort's arch nemesis. Harry is still a child, though. I still have hope that he will come to understand the difficult position that Severus is in and all that he has given up for all of us."

"Indeed," Samantha responded absently. "That would certainly explain the looks I've seen passed between those two. I knew it had to be more than house rivalry."

"As difficult to miss as a bludger to the face."

"I guess I should be more accommodating of his moodiness, then," Samantha said with a sigh.

"Granted, he is under more pressure than I am sure I could handle, but Severus has never been what you'd call pleasant," Lupin laughed as he said it. "He and I were in the same year in school and I can recall from that first day my impressions of him. I don't think it's innate, though. He is a good man, as we can see from his willingness to put his life on the line even for those who hate him, and he has not led an easy life, even from childhood. I admit, I'm not fully informed on the specifics, but from the snippets of information I do have care of a –," a hitch in his voice halted his story for a moment, "a mutual friend, it was very difficult for him."

"To tell you the truth, even in my limited interactions with him, I would be somewhat suspicious were Professor Snape to start being pleasant." Samantha paused for a moment. "This might be overstepping my bounds, but from the way both you and he have spoken on these matters leads me to believe that there is an organized movement against Voldemort that seems to exist outside of the Ministry and centered, instead, around our esteemed headmaster. First Professor Snape tells me that he is loyal to the headmaster specifically and then I am told that it was through the machinations of the same that I find myself in the castle. Is there such an association?"

"Now that I cannot speak about. I suggest you speak with the headmaster on the matter," Lupin answered. "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Why do you refer to Severus as Professor Snape? You are, after all, colleagues." Samantha gave a short laugh.

"I actually wondered to myself just this morning why I do that. I even call him sir," she stopped for a moment, trying to put words to her explanation. "Well, first, he's never told me to call him anything else. He doesn't refer to me by my first name either. He is also my senior as a faculty member and in our shared field, which is why I am waiting for him to give me leave to use his first name."

"Perhaps if you tell him to call you Samantha," Lupin offered. Samantha shrugged in response.

"I'm still enthralled by the novelty of being called professor. I quite like the robes as well," she said with a smile. "Teachers in America don't wear them. Childish though it may be, I enjoy swishing about."

Lupin laughed heartily at her confession.

"I'm sure you're aware of Severus' reputation, then," he said, still laughing. Samantha shook her head. "The great bat of the dungeons?"

"Aw, that's not fair," Samantha said, laughing despite her words. "Fitting, even if it is insulting at the same time."

"I don't mean to insult him, of course. But he does nothing to dispel the image with those robes of his."

"No, I suppose he doesn't," she acceded. "Well, shall we continue?"

Samantha and Lupin spent the remainder of the day discussing Samantha's work on her potion. She was grateful for the first hand account Lupin could give her on the transformation, both with and without Wolfsbane. In the back of her mind, however, she was still working to process all of the information she'd been given by both Snape and Lupin. Not only had he been tortured, but it had not been the first time and he surely knew that every time he went back to Voldemort's side it could happen again. And on top of it all, he brewed the Wolfsbane potion in the midst of his recovery. It was then that she recalled the argument they'd had that morning and what she knew now to be the appallingly unfair and insulting accusations she'd flung at him. She felt an almost unbearable wave of guilt wash over her every time she replayed the scene in her head. One way or another, she would have to make it up to him, and, given his disdain for pity, she would have to go about it in a way that befitted the values lauded by his own house.


	7. Sorting

Two weeks later and Samantha was still trying to formulate a plan that would allow her to assuage her guilt and she was no closer to achieving that goal. Perhaps she was just not capable of being as Slytherin as she thought she could. For some reason, she felt a little disappointed when she reached that conclusion. She surmised it was likely because she wanted to find some reason to redeem herself in Snape's eyes, and what better way to do that than to show herself to have the qualities valued by his own house?

"The sorting hat!" She exclaimed aloud in her empty office. That was a habit she'd picked up after her husband died. 'Make that murdered,' she thought ruefully to herself. Having no one to talk to for most of her day prompted her to fill the silence with either music or her own voice. She did think herself slightly mad, but there was nothing to be done for it. It had already become engrained in her daily routine. And now that she hadn't yet figured out a way to listen to her music at Hogwarts (she'd never been particularly skilled in Charms) she began talking to herself with alarming frequency.

She began to think about the idea of being sorted. Surely it would work as well on adults as it did for children. And perhaps it would be even more accurate given that she'd already had time to develop her personality, rather than having it shaped by whichever house she might have ended up in as a child. But did she really want to be sorted? What if she ended up in Hufflepuff? Or Gryffindor? Snape would never let her live it down.

"Well, if nothing else, it would help me choose a team to cheer for at quidditch," she said aloud once more. She was slightly comforted by the fact that she at least spoke in a low voice when she talked to herself. She promised herself that if she started talking in a full voice, she'd go get herself checked out.

With her decision made, she headed to Dumbledore's office to ask if she could have a go at the sorting hat. Samantha was glad to find that he was in his office when she arrived. She was terribly impatient once she'd made up her mind to do something, if only because she often found herself questioning any decision she made if she was given too much time to dwell on it.

"What can I do for you, Samantha?" Dumbledore asked as she sat herself down in front of his imposing desk.

"Well, sir, I was wondering if–," she stopped abruptly. "Does the sorting hat work on adults?"

"To tell you the truth, we've never tried it on an adult before. At least not while I've been here," Dumbledore said absently, clearly trying to work out in his mind whether or not it was possible. "I can't think of a reason why it shouldn't work."

"That is what I thought as well, headmaster."

"Well, there's a first time for everything, isn't there?" He said, sounding childishly excited at the prospect of testing his hypothesis. He plucked the sorting hat from its resting place and turned to Samantha. "Ready?" Samantha took a steadying breath and nodded.

She gasped as the hat came to life the moment Dumbledore placed it on her head. 'Well, so far so good,' she thought to herself.

'You're a bit older than I'm used to,' came the hat's blunt opening remarks.

'I'm not _that_ old,' she mentally huffed. 'What do you see?'

'You're as ambitious as they come,' the hat began, clearly in thought. It was a little disconcerting, if she were totally honest. She'd never experienced anything like it and certainly couldn't imagine what it would be like for an eleven-year-old. 'You seem to have achieved nearly all that you have sought and subsequently grown out of much of your self-consciousness, though. Hm, now this is interesting. You're still keen to prove yourself, but I only see one person who you'd like to impress. And I remember him well. Greasy.'

'Do you _mind_?' She chided the hat, not quite knowing why she was being so protective of Snape to a _hat_.

'Well, we _are_ bossy, aren't we? I think there's a little more going on here than a need to impress him,' the hat added cheekily.

'If I'd known you'd be so rude, I'd never have decided to turn to you. Will you just get on with it?'

'Careful, I might put you precisely where you do not want to be if you continue harassing me,' it warned. Samantha sighed aloud this time and Dumbledore gave her a look, clearly wondering what was taking so long and why she was looking so exasperated at a hat. 'You're lucky I am not quite so vindictive. I'd say there's no place for you but…'

'But _where_?' She asked in frustration when the hat trailed off.

"Slytherin," the hat finally said aloud. She was both relieved and surprised, though perhaps now that she had been assured a place in Slytherin, she would feel a little more confident in pursuing her plan of attack.

"Are you pleased with the results?" Dumbledore asked as he placed the hat back on its stand.

"I am. That hat does need a talking to, though. I wonder if it's quite so rude to the children."

Dumbledore laughed in response.

"Tell me, why did you want to be sorted?" He asked.

Samantha had a sneaking suspicion that much of the staff were gossips, Snape obviously excluded, and was wary of what she really wanted to reveal.

"Quidditch is coming up. I wasn't sure who I wanted to back," she answered lightly. Well, it wasn't wholly untrue. Dumbledore looked unconvinced.

"And why were you so pleased with being sorted into Slytherin?" He pressed. Skirting this would be a little more difficult.

"Professor Snape would never have let me live it down otherwise. I might have gotten away with Ravenclaw, but I'm not even so sure about that." Dumbledore continued to be dubious and clearly saw her hedging. "Well," she continued, keen to get out of the office, "I must be getting back to work. Those assignments aren't going to grade themselves!" She mentally groaned at the patently guilty tone in her voice. Dumbledore, magnanimous as he was, let her flee without further questioning.

September quickly faded into October, bringing the cold with it in more than one way. She and Snape continued to maintain a barely cordial acquaintance. They continued to hold monosyllabic conversations at meals, Snape more often than not speaking to her out of the corner of his mouth and almost never turning his head to face her. Brewing was not much more conversationally stimulating. Their only exchanges seemed to occur when Samantha was looking for an ingredient or utensil. Every once in a while, she would listen to him fume about his students. Not having to deal with such explosive combinations of students in her own classes, she never had much to add to these discussions other than randomly placed noises of assent. Of course, they were not so much discussions as they were ranting sessions for Snape.

Halloween was suddenly upon them, with the first quidditch match of the season coming right on its heels. During the Halloween feast, she had vaguely wondered about the wisdom of stuffing children with more sugar than their young bodies could surely handle. She leaned over to Snape to share her observation.

"The number of sweets on the tables makes me wonder if the headmaster, in his lemon drop-induced haze, has forgotten what large amounts of sugar do to children," she murmured.

Snape snorted and he clearly appeared to be struggling to contain the laughter that threatened to bubble out of him. He quickly clamped down on his amusement just as he had at the Sorting Feast. Not before, however, a certain blond Slytherin had witnessed the entire exchange.

The Saturday following the Halloween Feast, Samantha had her first experience with the fever pitch of a pre-quidditch breakfast. She'd only ever been to one quidditch match, and that was _years_ back.  She had never played herself, not least because she was not very skilled on a broom nor particularly athletic in general. Moreover, Salem could not boast of the same expansive grounds that Hogwarts had and, therefore, did not have a quidditch pitch.

The students were positively giddy. Though it was the Gryffindor and Slytherin match, the high tensions that ran between the two houses made it the biggest rivalry in the school. As such, even the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students were infected with the escalating excitement. The Great Hall fairly buzzed with it. As she looked over the hall, she noticed that most students, save for a handful of Ravenclaws, all proudly wore Gryffindor colors. She wasn't sure if it would have bothered her before, but being a relatively new addition to Slytherin House (even if no one knew it but the blasted hat and the nosy headmaster) she felt slighted by the clear bias. Of course, the nastiness of many of the house's students and, as far as the students were concerned, its illustrious head, didn't exactly endear Slytherin to the rest of the school.

The students quickly cleared out as soon as the players left to ready themselves for the match. She noted with amusement that the first out behind the players were gaggles of girls, clearly vying for the attention of the popular athletes. Snape rose to help herd the students to the pitch, Samantha soon following his lead. Before she could catch up, however, the headmaster called to her.

"Samantha, I have a gift for you," he said as he presented her with a wrapped bundle.

"Really?" She asked excitedly, clearly caught up in the light atmosphere created by the enthusiastic students. She tore open the package to find a Slytherin scarf. "Sir, thank you. This is perfect!"

"Indeed," he said with a sly smile as she immediately wound the scarf around her neck. "Why don't you go join your head of house in the stands?"

Samantha eyed him warily, wondering what he was playing at. Nevertheless, she followed his advice and unsurprisingly found an empty space next to Snape in the faculty box. He glanced briefly at her and followed it up with an uncharacteristic double take. She looked over at him to find him staring at her scarf.

"Any particular reason you've decided to alienate yourself from the rest of the school and probably a good deal of your Muggle Studies students?" He asked sarcastically. She looked down at her new scarf and smiled.

"The headmaster gave it to me," she answered simply. She definitely wasn't going to hand him this news on a silver platter; he was going to have to tease it out of her.

"Whatever for?"

"Well, being a Slytherin and all, I imagine he thought I should have one," she explained as if it were self-evident.

"What do you mean 'being a Slytherin'?" He demanded, clearly confused and not liking it one bit.

"Dumbledore allowed me to try out the sorting hat. It put me in Slytherin," Samantha answered with a triumphant, and just a touch haughty, grin.

"Did it really?" He asked with an amused smirk.

Samantha was glad that she'd finally gotten him to string more than two words together when speaking to her and even more delighted that he appeared pleased that she'd been sorted into his house. She gave him a crooked smile and nodded.

"It did. Though not without being rather rude about it," she added moodily. "The damned thing said I was old."

A bark of laughter escaped from Snape before he could stop himself. Luckily the teams had just flown out from the locker rooms and the roar of the crowd covered his indiscretion. It did not, however, escape Samantha's notice. And if anyone asked why her cheeks were so red, she could just chalk it up to the cold.

As Madam Hooch walked onto the pitch to begin the match, Samantha leaned over to Snape to inform him that he would likely be bombarded with a barrage of questions as the match progressed. He appeared to sulk for a moment, but took it with remarkably good grace.

"Do you not have quidditch where you come from?" He asked, watching as Madam Hooch released the bludgers. The blighters did have a mind of their own and it did one well to keep an eye on them.

"Where I come from? You make it sound like I'm from another planet," she scoffed at him, her attention likewise on the proceedings on the pitch. Snape smirked.

"May as well be," he muttered, though not so low that Samantha knew he'd meant her to hear it. She nudged him with her elbow in response. To their collective surprise, he merely snorted at her childish reaction.

Samantha was surprised at how violent the game was. She certainly didn't remember it this way. Then again, she doubted that the teams she saw play held anywhere near the same animosity toward one another as did Gryffindor and Slytherin. She noticed that while Snape was not quite so vocal about his support (she had quickly found herself yelling at both teams), she could practically feel the tension radiating from his body. Being so close to him, she also heard more than one gasp as he saw players on both sides fall to what she was sure should have been their certain death were it not for strategically placed, if somewhat weak, cushioning charms.

It was a tense game. The chasers kept the scores relatively close, leaving the outcome of the match up to the seekers. They were nearly an hour and a half into the game when it became clear that Harry Potter had spotted the snitch. He raced down toward the pitch, narrowly missing two bludgers along the way. Chasers and beaters scattered as he flew toward them with no mind to slow down for anything or anyone in his way. Draco was soon on his tail, the two boys shortly thereafter neck and neck in their pursuit of the small golden orb. It was immediately evident that Harry was the better flyer, but the quality of Draco's broom somewhat made up for his natural deficiencies.

Samantha could swear she'd held her breath for a full minute as she watched the two race toward the ground only to pull up at the last minute. She could feel Snape tense next to her, relaxing only slightly when it became clear that they would not crash head first into the pitch. His eyes held a fiery intensity as he followed the movements of the seekers, his cheeks were flushed, and his parted lips showed his breathing to be elevated. Samantha found herself captivated by the sight for a moment before hearing both cheers and groans from those around her. She looked up to see an elated Harry Potter grasping the snitch, waving it around triumphantly as his team circled him.

"Bloody _Potter_ ," Snape muttered grumpily. "Never bloody fails."

Samantha was amused by his reaction. He reminded her of her husband every time his favorite football club had lost a match. It was also an oddly humanizing response. Not that she thought him inhuman of course, but sports were such a _normal_ activity and Snape was, well, not exactly normal, and nor did he seem to be the athletic type. His grumpiness over his team losing a match was both petulant and typical of every man she'd ever known. Why that warmed her, she hadn't the faintest idea.

The two walked along the perimeter of the swarm of students returning to the castle to either celebrate their win or commiserate in their loss. Along the way, Samantha babbled on about the match. The nearly two hours of brutal quidditch she'd just witnessed had her adrenaline operating at full tilt. She hardly noticed that Snape, though no longer moody, was not paying much attention to her.

"I had no idea it was going to so violent, Professor," she continued, oblivious to the fact that he had stopped dead in his tracks.

"Severus," he said suddenly, looking as though he'd surprised himself. Samantha finally noticed he stopped and whirled around to look at him.

"Sorry?" She asked, barely able to hear him over the excited chatter of the students.

"Severus," he said again as he caught up to her. "Call me Severus."

"Oh," she replied dumbly, a warm smile coming over her face. She held out her hand with a smirk. "Very well, Severus. Samantha, pleased to meet you."

Snape took her gloved hand and gave it a firm shake.

"Charmed, I'm sure."

Samantha laughed until she was nearly in tears. Given that she was already wound up in the aftermath of the match, their light banter made her positively light-headed. And, much to her delight, it seemed to be rubbing off on him.

They walked back to the castle in companionable silence, though amused glances continued to pass between the two. Their good humor continued through lunch and throughout the rest of the day as Snape allowed himself to yet again be used as a sounding board for Samantha's research.

Yes, her plan was moving forward quite nicely, if she did say so herself.


	8. Granger Danger

While Snape had spent a relatively pleasant Saturday with Samantha, Monday greeted him with a vengeance. Not only was he chastising himself for having completely eschewed his plan to distance himself from the witch, but he also had to deal with his sixth year Double Potions class. The bane of his existence. Except, perhaps, after Voldemort.

The class started off better than could be expected. That in and of itself stirred Snape's paranoia. This class was never calm when he entered the room and they never quietly and orderly retrieved ingredients and began their work. Something just _had_ to go wrong.

In the end, it was only a minor disruption caused by a meddling know-it-all. She had practically brewed Weasley's potion as well as her own, though her potion did not fare as well as the red-head's due to her negligence toward her own work. He watched as her potion bubbled over the edge of her cauldron while her attention stayed firmly fixed on her friend's work. The look of abject horror on her face when she realized that she would be receiving a zero for class that day filled Snape with sadistic joy. Her face was deathly white and quickly crumbling as she looked up from her potion to Snape, who had swept to the front of her table.

"Tut, tut, Miss Granger," he said, sounding anything but sympathetic. He looked down at her cauldron as though it were the most distasteful thing he had ever had the displeasure of setting his eyes upon. A quick _evanesco_ cleared the mess. "Detention, tonight, immediately after dinner," he tossed over his shoulder as he returned to his desk. "Perhaps now you will let your dunderheaded friends fail instead of yourself. And speaking of dunderheads, Mr. Weasley, your potion may be acceptable, but you will join Miss Granger in her misery. A zero for the day, I should think, and detention."

To say that Hermione was crestfallen would be the understatement of a century. Her misery was so complete that she was beyond consolation. She quickly shrugged off Harry's comforting hand and glared at Ron, who at least had the good grace to look apologetic, even if he did have to share in her punishment. She quickly gathered her things and stomped out of the classroom, leaving her friends to run after her.

The moment Snape finished his classes for the day he stormed into the lab, nearly taking the door off its hinges along the way. Samantha, who only had two classes on Mondays, was already in the lab, engrossed in her research. She noted his grand entrance with nothing more than a raised eyebrow. She was well used to his frayed nerves on the days of his sixth year class.

"Severus," she said in greeting. "What did they do this time?" She asked without turning away from her cauldron. Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The insufferable know-it-all decided she needed to pay more attention to Weasley's potion than her own and managed to destroy it beyond repair. I now have a detention to supervise tonight," he paused for a moment and then rolled his eyes as he recalled that he'd given the boy detention as well. " _Two_ detentions."

"What were they making?" She briefly thought about pointing out that he himself had been the one to assign the detentions, but decided to allow him to revel in his own misery.

"Everlasting Elixir," he answered.

"Well, you could pawn Weasley off on Filch and make Granger brew the potion properly. You know he'd never have done it properly anyway, but she should have," Samantha offered. Snape did not look as though he agreed with her plan.

"And I suppose you'll expect me to reward her with the points she missed out in class this afternoon."

"Of course not," she answered with a frown. Did he really think she was _that_ soft on students? Perhaps she needed to hand out a few detentions herself.

"I highly doubt she'll think it's much of a detention if all I ask her to do is brew a potion. The girl has a fetish for school work." Samantha snorted.

"I should think she would find spending the evening in your presence punishment enough," she said with a smirk. Snape rolled his eyes. Given the number of evenings she'd willingly subjected herself to his presence, she obviously meant it in jest.

Snape slouched out of his robes and threw them over a stool. He absent-mindedly unbuttoned a few buttons on his coat as he flicked through a notebook of half-finished research projects. Once he'd settled on a choice for the evening, he untied his cravat, which soon joined his robes. Samantha was enthralled by the sight and suddenly realized that he had never once disturbed a single piece of clothing, apart from removing his teaching robes, while he was in her presence. She thought it absurd that she should be captivated by the sight of his bare throat, feeling as though she were seeing something she shouldn't be. She was vividly reminded of a book she’d read about Victorians and a fascination with ankles.  He was always covered from head to toe, without a single patch of skin showing apart from his face and hands. To see him now was disturbingly intriguing.

She was pulled out of her thoughts when he looked up at her with a raised eyebrow.

_"Yes?"_ He asked silkily, drawing out the single syllable to emphasize his displeasure with her intense scrutiny.

"Oh, um, nothing," she stumbled over her words. She hadn't realized that she'd been staring at him all along. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment and she ducked her head, pretending to be engrossed in her notes. The more she thought about it, though, the more pleased she became about the development. Surely it meant that he was becoming more comfortable in her presence. This was most welcome progress, indeed. Even if her response to his new found comfort was somewhat disconcerting

They both settled into comfortable silence as they worked on their respective potions. They were so absorbed by their work that they hardly noticed when dinner came and went. It was only when Snape heard a tentative knock on his office door that he realized they'd completely forgotten to eat. He likewise remembered that he had not asked Filch to take over Weasley's detention.

He wrenched the door open to find the dynamic duo looking up at him, knowing by the look on his face that he wasn't particularly pleased by their disruption, despite the fact that _he_ was the one that required their presence.

"Enter," he said moodily. "Stand here, don't touch anything. I will know if you do. I will be right back."

Snape found Filch soon enough. The man was only too pleased to oversee a detention. The two returned to Snape's office to find that neither student seemed to have moved a millimeter since his departure.

"Weasley, you will be serving your detention with Mr. Filch this evening. Granger, you're with me."

The boy looked both stricken at having to serve detention with Filch and relieved that he didn't have to spend the evening with Snape. Once Filch and Weasley had gone on their way, Snape turned to Hermione.

"In the lab, Granger," he said sourly as he opened the door for the girl. "In," he swept his hand toward the open door when she did not immediately comply with his terse instructions. "Don't touch anything unless I say otherwise."

She walked tentatively through the door, jumping when Snape all but slammed the door behind him. Hermione's face bore hint of confusion mixed with both awe and nervousness. She'd never heard of anyone having a detention with Snape in his private lab. As she looked around the lab, she caught sight of Samantha sitting at the far end of the table, taking notes in a well-worn notebook as a cauldron simmered in front of her. Hermione's curiosity got the best of her.

"Professor Rhodes," she said, surprise coloring her voice. "What are you doing here?"

Samantha raised an eyebrow at Hermione's rather forthright and borderline demanding question. Snape answered before Samantha could open her mouth.

"Miss Granger has clearly forgotten herself in her insufferable need to ask every question that crosses her mind," he explained with a sneer, glaring at the girl. She shrunk back at his harsh tone.

"Curiosity, Miss Granger, though a laudable quality in small amounts, must be tempered by forethought and prudence," said Samantha, though not unkindly. Hermione had the grace to look chastened, but was clearly not quite so terrified by Samantha's reprimand.

"Sir, what would you like me to do?" Hermione asked, turning toward her professor.

Samantha noted the look of surprise and interest that quickly crossed the girl's face when she had fully registered Snape's appearance. Clearly, Granger had likewise never been privy to Snape's more relaxed attire.

Snape, however, did not appear to notice. "You will be brewing the potion you so spectacularly ruined this afternoon." Hermione looked both relieved and pleased. "You will _not_ , however, be awarded the points you might have earned in class."

"Yes, sir," she answered meekly. Realizing that she hadn't the faintest clue where anything was, she simply stood there, looking expectantly at Snape. He huffed in response, not wanting to admit that she was merely doing what he'd explicitly instructed her to do. He moved swiftly about the lab, retrieving both her ingredients and utensils, as well as relocating his cauldron and notes further down the table toward Samantha.

"You have two hours," he said as he turned back to his own work. He stopped when he heard a squeak issue from the girl.

"Sir, I didn't bring my book. I didn't know that I would need it," she explained as she wrung her hands in nervousness.

Snape knew very well that he couldn't admonish her for it. He turned to the row of books lining the back of one of the counters and, after scanning their spines, plucked a rather ancient looking leather bound book out of the row. He quickly, though carefully, flipped to the desired page and set it on the table.

"This book is old and fairly priceless. You do not want to know the consequences should you ruin it."

The blood drained from Hermione's face as she nodded emphatically. He nodded once and sat down on a stool in front of his notebook. Samantha was used to Snape's more unguarded moments, but Hermione had never once seen her professor in his own private space. His lab was not a place many students set their eyes upon and it was interesting to see him writing in his notebook, working on research she presumed, with nary a trace of the nastiness that usually contorted his face. He was still no catch, but he looked approachable. However, she knew full well that that approachability would never apply to her. Hermione watched with curiosity as Snape raised his head to regard Samantha with a thoughtful, perhaps even concerned, look on his face. Interesting.

"Samantha," he said quietly. She gave no indication that she'd heard him. "Samantha," he said a little louder. She made an indecipherable noise in response, but didn't look away from what she was writing. "Are you hungry?"

She put her quill down and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Starving, actually."

"Dobby," Snape said authoritatively. The house elf popped into existence at once, looking expectantly at the Potions Master.

"What can Dobby do for Professor Snape?" He looked like he might wet himself at the prospect of completing a task for the professor.

"Dinner, for Professor Rhodes and myself," he answered. He saw Dobby look to Hermione, the question clear on his face. Snape looked over his shoulder at the girl and rolled his eyes. "Miss Granger has had dinner and is serving a disgracefully lax detention. I should think it highly unnecessary to feed her as well." He heard a huff come from Granger and a soft chuckle from Samantha.

"Dobby will be getting the professors their dinner then," he said excitedly. He was back only a moment after he disappeared, bearing two covered platters.

"Dobby," Snape said with a nod of acceptance as he received the trays from the elf. It was more of a "thank you" than most people got from Snape. The house elf looked positively rapturous as he disappeared once more.

Snape carefully slid the trays onto the table, giving one to Samantha as he left one for himself. He removed the lid to thankfully find a rather light meal consisting of stew and sandwiches. Samantha dove into hers with gusto while Snape retained at least a modicum of propriety, though he ate heartily as well. He didn't normally eat in the lab, but as he had to supervise Granger, he couldn't leave to eat in his office.

Samantha chewed a sandwich thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing so that she could speak. "What do you think about mandrake?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and swallowed the spoonful of stew he'd just put in his mouth. "An intriguing idea. The idea of a restorative potion to cure it has some merit. What were you thinking to use before?"

"Hellebore," she answered as she took a sip of her pumpkin juice. "I've never had the kind of access to mandrake you have here, so it never crossed my mind to use it."

"No," he shook his head. "Hellebore would never do. It's too focused on brain activity and emotion. We need something that will ward against physical change." He paused for a moment. " _Although_ , hellebore is in Wolfsbane to help ease the mental stress of transformation."

Samantha gave a great sigh. "I feel like I need a fresh angle. Everything I'm doing now would seem to simply prevent transformation, but not eradicate the condition. It could still be passed on through blood."

"How close to a preventative draught are you?" Snape asked, reaching for her notebook. She absently pushed it toward him, completely lost in thought. "Samantha?"

"Hm? What?" She asked, shaking her head to focus her attention.

"I said, how close are you?"

"Oh, I think I could have it by Christmas," she answered. "Remus said he would make himself available to test it."

"Lovely," said Snape sarcastically as he flicked through her notes. "I could think of no better way to spend Christmas."

Hermione tried, to no avail, to smother the sneeze that threatened to disturb her professors from their discussion. Upon hearing the poorly cloaked sniffle, Snape looked at her as though he'd forgotten she was even in the room. She smiled guiltily and turned quickly back to her cauldron. She desperately wanted them to continue their debate. Hermione knew very well that Snape was a brilliant potions maker, he could brew Wolfsbane after all, but she'd never really seen him outside of teaching mundane potions to his students. She had no idea that the Muggle Studies professor had likewise been gifted with a talent for potions. Their conversation intrigued her both because seeing two scholars debate the merits of the ingredients fascinated her (not to mention seeing her highly disagreeable professor act like a normal human being for once) and because she wanted to know what illness they were trying to brew a cure for. Once she'd heard Samantha mention Lupin, she knew that they must be working on a cure for lycanthropy. She could hardly believe her ears when she heard that there could possibly be a potion to at least prevent transformation as soon as Christmas.

"I hardly need tell you, Miss Granger, that this conversation does not leave this room," Snape said in a low voice. Hermione looked simultaneously pleased by Snape's confidence in her ability to not divulge the contents of their conversation and also rather frightened about what the consequences would be if she did let it slip.

"No, sir," she answered in a nervous voice.

"And what do you think, Miss Granger?" Hermione's eyes widened to the size of saucers. Snape glared at Samantha, wondering what had gotten into her mind to get the know-it-all involved. Samantha ignored him.

"What do _I_ think?" Samantha nodded, looking amused by the stricken look on the girl's face. "Um, well…"

"An earth-shattering contribution to the discussion, to be sure," Snape said mockingly as he crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.

"Severus," Samantha admonished him. She turned back to Hermione. "Go on, Miss Granger."

"Well, we're dealing with a physical transformation, aren't we?" She started, settling into the lecturing voice her friends so hated. "So, is there anything in the properties of the polyjuice potion that could point us in the right direction?"

" _Us_?" Snape muttered. Samantha shushed him. "Miss Granger, we are trying to _prevent_ transformation, not encourage it."

"I know that, sir," Hermione answered defensively. Snape glared at her and she visibly shrank back. She continued timidly. "But perhaps when you break down what the active ingredients are that _initially_ provoke the transformation, you could look for those that would counteract it."

Samantha looked at Snape out of the corner of her eye. He was trying and failing to give off an aura of disinterest at Hermione's suggestion.

"It is an interesting notion, is it not, Severus?" She asked cheekily. He grunted in response.

"Is your potion done yet, Miss Granger?" He asked irritably. She jumped at his change in topic and looked back to her cauldron.

"Yes, sir," she answered. He stood and moved to Hermione's workspace, Samantha following close behind. He looked in it and gave it an imperious sniff.

"It is…acceptable," he grudgingly acknowledged. Hermione beamed while Samantha rolled her eyes at Snape's inability to praise a student who had just brewed a nearly perfect potion. "You are dismissed."

Hermione actually looked a little disappointed that she could not continue the conversation about Samantha's potion, but she recognized the look on Snape's face and she wasn't about to question him.

As soon as the door had closed behind her, Snape poured the potion into a bottle, labeled, and stored it.

"Acceptable, Severus?" Samantha asked with a raised eyebrow.

"The girl's head is big enough as it is, she doesn't need my approbation. She gets enough from everyone else in the castle," he said tersely.

"She looked fit to burst when you said her potion was merely acceptable," Samantha argued. "If you want my opinion – "

"I don't," he interjected.

" _I think_ ," Samantha continued sharply, "that it is _your_ approbation that she most wants of all of her teachers."

"As soon as she does something worthy of it, I'll let her know. As it is, she only parrots what she's read. Being able to memorize facts makes her a good actor, not a potion brewer."

"And what about her polyjuice idea?" Samantha pressed. Snape grunted.

"We don't yet know if that is even a _good_ idea," he said with a petulant edge to his voice.

"You're impossible," Samantha sighed and threw her hands up in defeat as she reclaimed her stool.

Snape harrumphed in response, clearly sulking. With jerky movements that reflected his frustration, he shrugged out of his coat and threw it on the counter. Samantha looked up and suddenly found herself incapable of remaining upset with him. She watched closely as he roughly ran his hand through his hair, becoming increasingly irritated with the strands that refused to stay out of his face. And then it hit her. She was attracted to him.

_Shit_. Well, that wouldn't do at all. Sure, she wanted to be in his good graces, but he was a Death Eater and now a spy for God's sake! And he certainly wasn't much to look at. His hair was greasy and his nose was hooked and, oh my, now he was untucking his shirt. Damnit! This had not been a part of her plan. She'd only wanted to make up for accusing him of ruining their chances of winning the war. She certainly didn't want this, whatever _this_ was. Indefinable though it was, this was definitely on her list of Very Bad Ideas. It was stupid, it was dangerous, and it would amount to nothing more than borrowing trouble.

Despite her protestations, the idea seemed to become firmly lodged in her psyche. She did like his hands. And his voice was hypnotic. He moved rather gracefully, too. 'Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,' came the phrase unbidden to her mind.

' _No_ ,' she mentally scolded herself. The very idea of it was demonstrably insane. He was irredeemably taciturn and thoroughly unpleasant to all and sundry. 'Not to you,' her traitorous mind supplied, much to her dismay.

It was clear that her internal battle had made itself known on her face and through her body language. Snape was torn between amusement and interest in whatever it was she was wrestling with herself over. He himself had been waging what seemed to be losing battle in his mind over the past few days. He was certain that she wasn't facing the same dilemma, but he sympathized with her struggle. It was hard to convince your own brain that it was out of its bloody mind.

What neither knew is that they had both ultimately come to the same conclusion. Their attraction to the other was unbelievably stupid, incredibly dangerous and, in the end, totally outside the realm of their control.


	9. Breakthroughs

Thanks to a couple of rigorous and enlightening brainstorming sessions with Snape, Samantha was able to brew a testable potion before her projected date of Christmas. She was pleased to see upon consulting the lunar calendar that she'd actually finished in time to test it before the next full moon, which was the following week.

And it was for this reason that she found herself traipsing up from the dungeons to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to seek out her guinea pig.

"Remus?" She called as she walked through the open classroom door. She saw him poke his head out from his office door.

"Samantha! Up here," he said happily.

Samantha was constantly amazed at how content Lupin seemed to be with his life. The days directly following his transformations were exceptions, of course, but on the whole, he was always seemed so calm. It was a refreshing change from spending so many hours in the dungeons with Snape.

"I bring news of the potion," Samantha said as she walked up the steps to his office.

"Let's hear it, then."

"How would you like to find out if you'll not have to transform this month?" She asked him, feeling quite excited as she did so. She always got incredibly giddy when she made a breakthrough in any research she was working on. It must be said that Snape had not been very pleased when she'd giggled like a schoolgirl after watching the potion reach the perfect shade of silver.

For his part, Lupin looked as if he'd forgotten the English language.

"Now, I want to remind you that this is still in its experimental stages," Samantha continued. "And this is most important; you cannot take the Wolfsbane potion this month.  I am reasonably confident that it will react unfavorably with my potion. Unfortunately, if this doesn’t work, you will transform and it will be without the benefits of Wolfsbane."

Lupin nodded, a look of fierce commitment and determination on his face.

"I understand," he said. "I lived enough years without the luxury of a potion, I can certainly risk it for one more night."

"That's what I want to hear," said Samantha approvingly. "Here's the really difficult part: I haven't a clue how we're actually going to set up this experiment. I have been wracking my brains for weeks and have not come up with anything. My best idea is to place you in a cage for the night, but we have to find somewhere sufficiently secluded as well as a cage that could hold you should you transform."

Lupin sat for a moment in thought.

"I think I have just the idea," he said at last, jabbing a finger in the air. "The Room of Requirement."

"The room of what?" Samantha asked, still ignorant of many of the castle's secrets. Lupin smiled indulgently.

"The Room of Requirement. Some call it the Come and Go Room. It is designed to appear to someone in need and, in my experience, has never failed to rise to the occasion. The best part about it is that no one can enter the room unless they know what it's being used for."

"You're joking," Samantha said, her voice full of amazement. "This castle is something else."

"Come," he said, extending a hand to pull her out of her seat. "Let's see what the room thinks we require."

Samantha was huffing and puffing behind Lupin as they reached the seventh floor. Life as a researcher did not lend itself well to maintaining one's physical fitness. Samantha never seemed to gain weight, but she was sure she'd sooner die than run a mile. She watched in amusement as Lupin paced back in forth in the corridor, his head bent in thought. Suddenly, a door appeared, causing Samantha gasped in surprise.

"That was _so_ cool," said Samantha with a lopsided grin. Lupin smiled in response and reached for the doorknob.

"Moment of truth." Lupin pulled open the door and the two stepped over the threshold.

"This is…" Samantha started and then trailed off as she gazed around the room, mouth hanging open.

"Perfect," Lupin finished.

The space the room had provided for the two was large, though not cavernous like the rest of the castle, and a fair quarter of it was what would be Lupin's cage for the experiment. Samantha was glad to see that it was large enough be comfortable for him, whatever form he ended up spending the night in. The cage did not have bars, rather, it was made of what looked to be extremely thick glass, at least five inches. Samantha surmised that it must be something akin to bulletproof glass. The rest of the room was sparsely, though comfortably, furnished. There was a large table with three chairs around it as well as a small bed in one corner.

"I should get Severus. I'm sure he won't let anything go ahead until he approves it," Samantha said with a laugh as she rolled her eyes. Lupin raised an eyebrow at her as the corner of his mouth lifted in a sly smile.

"Severus, is it now? Well, well," he said deviously. "How did that come about?"

"He asked me," she responded simply. "After the quidditch match, he just…" She trailed off as she remembered the rather odd scene. "He kind of blurted it out, actually."

"I can't imagine Severus blurting anything out."

Samantha shrugged.

"He did. We were walking and then all of a sudden he just stopped and said his name. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about," Samantha confessed.

"What did he say specifically?" Lupin pressed.

"I was talking about the match and I must have called him professor because he just stopped dead in his tracks and said 'Severus'. I could only just barely hear him over the students, so I thought I'd heard him wrong."

"And what did he say to that?"

"You are an incurable gossip, aren't you?" Samantha shoved him playfully. "I'll indulge you _this time_. He told me to call him Severus. And that was that. Not a very juicy story, is it?"

"Ah, well, not for most, but this _is_ Severus we're talking about," Lupin said mysteriously. Samantha cocked her head at him, but he made no move to continue.

"OK," Samantha said uncertainly. "I'm going to bring him up here after dinner. How does it, um–" she stopped, trying to come up with the right word. "How does it work?"

"Did you see the statue that was across the hall?" Samantha nodded. "That's Barnabas the Barmy. All you have to do is walk up and down the corridor in front of that statue three times and concentrate on what it is you need."

"Easy enough." She paused for a moment and seemed hesitant to continue. "Have you ever heard of the room becoming something you didn't think you'd need but the room for some reason sensed you needed it?"

After her recent revelations regarding the dark, brooding, and infuriating Potions Master, she didn't need any surprises. A bed with silk sheets and soft music, for instance. Her cheeks burned at the thought and she hoped against hope that Lupin didn't notice.

He did, of course, but being the gentleman he was, he didn't push her.

"Not that I am aware of," he replied honestly.

Samantha looked relieved when he didn't inquire as to why she wanted to know. Lupin made sure to store away the conversation for future reference. There was definitely something more going on than met the eye.

For reasons not completely known to her, Samantha was almost as nervous as she was excited to ask Snape to join her after dinner to visit the Room of Requirement. Throughout the first half of dinner, she said little, but continued to cast furtive glances at him, trying to pluck up the courage to ask him.

"Severus," she said suddenly. She grimaced when she saw that he'd just placed a forkful of food in his mouth. "Sorry." She tried not to stare too much as he chewed his food. Finally, he swallowed.

"Yes?" He asked, sounding fairly annoyed. Well, this was certainly not the best opening to the discussion.

"Remus and I, well, we found a room," she said cryptically.

"You found a what?"

She knew she had to get the point because his annoyance would only grow exponentially once provoked.

"For the testing."

"Where?" Snape asked flatly.

"The sev–," she started.

"The seventh floor?" He finished. She nodded. "Absolutely not."

_"What?"_ She asked, her voice louder and rather more high-pitched than strictly necessary. "Severus, this is not your experiment."

"That area is in the midst of the students' dormitories. What if something should go wrong? We can't have – _that_ – roaming free in the halls," he said in a ferocious whisper.

" _That_ happens to be my _friend_ ," came her heated answer.

For a moment, Snape looked as though he'd been slapped across the face, but recovered quickly. He straightened in his chair, looking as cold and inhospitable as ever.

"I was going to ask you to come see it, Severus," said Samantha softly.

Snape regarded her thoughtfully for a few moments. He could swear he saw the same look of disappointment on her face that he saw cross Granger's every time he gave her a mark below what they both knew she deserved. With a pang of regret, he realized that he never wanted to be the one to cause her disappointment. He watched as she turned her face away from him and moved her food absently around her plate. No, he definitely did not want to stir these types of feelings in her, though he still refused to think about the ones he _did_ want to stir up.

"Very well," he acceded. Her head popped up and she gave him a warm smile. It was the kind of smile with which people did not grace Severus Snape. It was genuine. And it touched something in him that he had been trying for decades to contain. He was able to keep control over his expression, but inside he felt as though he'd just downed a glass of firewhiskey. It was decidedly pleasant; hell, it was more than pleasant, it was amazing. It was also painfully forbidden if he valued his life.

Still, he found himself accompanying the exasperating woman up to the seventh floor once the Great Hall had emptied of its sated occupants. He watched as she mirrored the motions Lupin had made just that afternoon, though _she_ gasped with delight when she saw the door appear for herself.

Despite the fact that Lupin had told her that he'd never heard of the room giving someone anything other than what they'd asked for, Samantha still felt her nerves get the best of her when she reached for the knob. She had mentally pleaded with the castle, desperate for the room to appear _exactly_ as it had earlier that day. She only just caught herself from letting out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was indeed the same room.

Snape eyed her curiously, but followed her in after looking up and down the hall to make sure there was no one watching.

"Are you still dead set against it?" Samantha asked after Snape had examined the room. He grunted in response and continued to pace.

"How do we know that will hold him?" He asked, pointing to the glass.

"Would the room have provided it if it didn't?" She liked to think the castle had taken that enormously important point into account when fashioning the room. Snape merely glared at her. Samantha stood up swiftly and huffed at him. If he wanted to question it, then she would just have to try and show him that it was capable of withstanding extreme force.

"What are you –" He cut off abruptly, watching as she picked up the chair she'd been sitting in and threw it with all her – admittedly lacking – strength at the glass. The chair bounced harmlessly off the glass and skid across the floor, stopping only inches before it would have barreled into him. He hadn't even thought to take his wand out. He should have been angry, but, instead, he found himself torn between amusement and astonishment.

Samantha shrugged at his unspoken question.

"It didn't break."

That did it. The matter-of-fact way in which she informed him that the glass had not, in fact, broken effectively broke _him_. Snape shook with laughter and had to sit down before his legs gave out. He honestly didn't know if he had _ever_ laughed like this. He soon heard a distinctly feminine laugh join his own and looked up to find Samantha giggling uncontrollably, which only pushed him further over the edge. She joined him at the table as they continued to laugh until they calmed down and only intermittent chuckles broke the silence.

"Well, it didn't," Samantha said with a hiccup. She gave another snort of laughter as she wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Yes, well, I am fairly certain that the strength of a fully grown werewolf would test that glass more than your little display," Snape responded sarcastically. He rubbed the muscles in his jaw. Had it really been that long since he'd smiled like that?

"Do your worst," Samantha said, clearly intending it to sound like a dare. Snape raised an eyebrow at her.

"Stand back," said Snape imperiously as he stood. If he didn't know any better, he'd say that she had started cackling.  Maddening witch.

"Wait!" Samantha shouted suddenly as he picked up a chair. " _Protego_." Snape nodded his thanks as she cast the shield over both of them.

Snape hoisted the chair over his shoulder and put all of his weight into hurtling it at the glass. Once more the glass remained completely untouched, but the chair did not fair quite so well. Two of its legs flew off dangerously and the rest lay in shattered pieces on the floor in front of the cage. Samantha let her shield down as they moved to inspect the damage.

"Still didn't break," she observed. Snape rolled his eyes as he inspected the point of impact. "There isn't a single scratch, Severus. Are you happy now?"

"Not yet," he said ominously, continuing to run his hands over the glass.

Two hours later, Snape had tested the cage with every piece of magic he could throw at it, both inside and out. He was annoyed to have been proven wrong, but relieved to know that there was no way Lupin was getting out unless someone let him out. He turned away from the glass one last time to find Samantha staring at him expectantly.

"Well?" She asked impatiently.

He sighed. "Tell Lupin that the experiment will go ahead as planned," he said finally.

Samantha was so caught up in her excitement that she hardly registered what she was doing before she threw her arms around Snape's neck and hugged him tightly. He stiffened, but his arms soon came to wrap around her waist, slowly tightening their hold as the seconds ticked by. She didn't know how long they stood like that, but she _did_ know that if she didn't extract herself from his grasp soon, she was going to do something she would regret. Snape seemed to sense her thoughts and quickly stepped back as he pulled his arms away from her body.

"Thank you, Severus," Samantha said softly. She could feel the loss of his warmth, of his solid presence, and that feeling of loss frightened her. Samantha had only felt like that once before and had nearly suffocated under its weight the first night she slept alone in her bed after the loss of her husband. "I'll just…go," she mumbled as she gestured vaguely to the door. Snape nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. Samantha looked back at Snape once more before going and was saddened to see that he had already turned his back on her.

While the two couldn't exactly avoid each other in the days leading up to the experiment, their previously free-flowing conversations had slowed down to a trickle of one-word questions and responses, while their comfortable silences had morphed into pregnant pauses. Neither of them liked the change, but nor could they figure out how to regain the sense of ease they had once felt around each other. On the other hand, both realized that it was probably for the best, circumstances being as they were. It was simply not the time to be forming attachments.


	10. Experiments and Results

Lupin had, predictably, been only too willing to be poked and prodded in the days leading up to the experiment. Samantha needed to do full diagnostics on him to make note of any and all elements that could possibly affect the way in which his body reacted to the potion. He knew it was an essential if sometimes painful step in chronicling the experiment, so he told her in no uncertain terms to have her way with him.

Samantha was glad for the diversion, for it kept her securely in the hospital wing and Snape firmly in the dungeons. He was never particularly comfortable around Lupin anyway, not to mention his irritation at Madam Pomfrey's incessant questioning after his health.  And after the events in the Room of Requirement, she was sure that he was doing everything within his formidable power to avoid _her_ as well. She didn't like it, but at the same time it gave her some time to think more clearly about what happened and just what had surged through her as they maintained contact.

Well, _some_ time, at any rate. The vast majority of her admittedly considerable brainpower was devoted to preparing and planning for every last second of the night the three would spend together in the room. Samantha had initially objected quite strongly to Snape's insistence that he be present as well, but his practical argument that the room provided a bed for the obvious reason that they needed to take shifts in observing Lupin's progress over the night was persuasive enough for her to allow it. Given that he seemed to avoid being in the same room with her at all costs, that he had argued so strongly for his physical participation in the experiment was decidedly odd, but a practical necessity all the same.

Samantha was not entirely sure that she was ready when the night finally came. Though she tried not to think about it in these terms, this experiment was the culmination of most of her life's work. She had never before been afforded the chance to perform practical tests of her theories, so she was determined to make the most of the opportunity. And so it was that she surreptitiously herded the two men to the Room of Requirement just after dinner to settle in for the night. Lupin had already taken the potion that afternoon, so all that remained was for Samantha to check his vital signs before letting him into his magically sealing cage. She felt a twinge of guilt at the idea of locking a human being up in a cage, but also knew that there was no other way to do it. Lupin didn't seem very bothered by it, so she kept her reservations to herself. She was sure Snape would hear nothing of it, anyway.

Once all of the preparatory tasks had been completed, Samantha sighed and clasped her hands nervously. "Alright. Now we wait."

As the late afternoon wore on into evening, Samantha and Lupin kept up a quiet conversation, wherein Samantha continuously asked Lupin what he was feeling. Snape remained silent as he worked through a pile of essays by his first years. He could feel his pulse quicken, however, as each minute ticked by. He knew that he could soon be witness to what was possibly his greatest fear.

Lupin's mood started changing as the evening progressed. He and Samantha still held out hope that while he was experiencing some of the onset symptoms of transformation, he may not actually go through the entire cycle. The moment the clock struck the moon's rising, however, she knew that her hope had been in vain. Her face fell when she saw the signs that his transformation was nearly upon them. Lupin's movements soon became jerky, as if he were not in control of his own body. Samantha was, even in violation of her own conscience and sympathy for Lupin's pain, excited about the promise of seeing a transformation firsthand. Her sometimes overly rational academic side took over as she began scribbling notes, watching as Lupin's excruciating transformation commenced. She stood from her chair to get closer to the cage, but was stopped by a solid wall of black wool.

"Severus, move," she whispered excitedly, trying to see around him.

"I am not letting you get any closer," he answered with finality. She glared at him, but her rising anger was soon quelled when she realized he wasn't just being obstinate. He was trying to protect her. However much she wanted to ruminate on that particular observation, she had far more compelling events to observe. She obediently returned to her chair, while Snape remained standing, wand drawn.

Snape winced at the howls of pain emanating from the cage. He was not particularly fond of Lupin, but he wasn't so callous that he would be completely blind to the obvious pain that the man – now wolf – was in. Slowly Lupin settled into his form and circled the cage. He didn't appear to be agitated, for which Snape was very thankful, and seemed rather more interested in finding somewhere to sleep.

The moment the transformation had been completed, a breath she didn't know she'd been holding rushed out of Samantha's mouth. Snape turned to look at her. She was clearly exhilarated by the experience, but he watched as the disappointment of the apparent failure of her potion crept onto her face.

"We don't yet know if the potion changed anything for Lupin," Snape said quietly. It was the most he'd spoken to her, and certainly the kindest he'd been, all week. He knew well what that failure felt like, but didn't want her to dwell on it before they had all the facts. Samantha nodded grudgingly and sighed.

"I know," she said. "I just couldn't help but hope that my theory had been correct. There's nothing to do for it now, though. We'll just have to wait and see what Remus has to say in the morning."

Snape went back to his grading while Samantha continued to add to her notes. As the night progressed, the tension that had been building between them seemed to both ease and grow. Shortly after they'd resumed their work, Snape had, without ceremony or explanation, moved his work down to Samantha's end of the table so that they faced each other. His red inkpot sat beside her black one in the middle of the table and more than once their hands just barely brushed one another as they reloaded their quills with ink; Snape for biting remarks scrawled in glaringly red ink, Samantha for recounting the horrific experience of Lupin's transformation with scientific detachment.

By midnight, both Snape and Samantha were beginning to feel the lateness of the hour in addition to the wearying effects of their waning adrenalin rush from the transformation. Further compounding the issue, both were acutely aware of the other's presence, and it was draining to be on edge for so long a period of time.

"Do you want to sleep?" Samantha asked Snape quietly. He shook his head.

"I think you should go first," he explained. "I'll wake you in an hour."

For once, she didn't argue with his handling her. She _was_ tired and, while it was little more than a cot, the bed set in the corner looked very inviting. She kicked off her shoes as she sat on the bed and barely moments after her head hit the pillows, she was asleep.

Snape watched with amusement at the childlike way in which she snuggled her head into the pillows after laying down. He was envious of how quickly she dropped off into sleep. He'd only been able to do that with a potion or alcohol. Even as tired as he was now, he knew he would have little hope of sleep when his time came.

As the hour he had allotted for her nap ticked by, he kept his attention divided between the two sleeping forms that kept him company. Lupin barely stirred at all, but Samantha tossed and turned, even though she still appeared to be sound asleep. It took all he had not to simply draw a chair up to her bedside and watch her as she slept, while completely ignoring the entire reason he was there to begin with. In the end, he told himself that she would likely not take kindly to waking up to him at her bedside. The argument kept him in his chair in the middle of the room, though his traitorous mind reminded him that he was no longer quite so sure that she would be completely averse to such a situation.

"Samantha," said Snape softly as he approached the bed. "It's half past one."

"Hm? What?" She mumbled tiredly, not opening her eyes.

"It's been an hour," he said, barely raising the volume of his voice. It was enough to wake her.

"Severus," she said in pleasant surprise when she finally registered his presence. The smile drifted somewhat from her face when she realized where she was and why he was waking her up. "I'm up, I'm up," she said, swinging her legs over the bed. "Your turn." Samantha brandished her wand to freshen the sheets, but stopped when Snape spoke up.

"Don't bother, I likely won't sleep much anyway," he said dejectedly, trying to cover up the fact that he really didn't want her to freshen the sheets so that he could feel her warmth, second-hand though it may be.  He was thoroughly disgusted with himself. Samantha shrugged and padded back to the table, not bothering to retrieve her shoes.

Samantha tried to keep herself occupied with her notes as Snape readied himself for bed, but it was a lost cause from the moment he began to unbutton that damned coat of his. Though she had watched him perform the movements before, this was different. He was doing this just as he was about to get into a bed. She briefly allowed herself to think about what it would feel like to be the one divesting him of his many layers before throwing him back onto that surprisingly comfortable bed. She snapped out of her fantasy when he abruptly sat down on the bed to remove his shoes. Perhaps it was because she'd never seen him do it before, but it felt even more intimate than watching him strip down to his shirtsleeves and trousers.

Snape knew that Samantha was watching his every move. It unnerved him to be observed with such intensity. On the other hand, warmth flooded through him the moment he entertained the idea that she might be watching him for the same reason he watched her. He was suddenly very glad that he had to sit down to remove his shoes as he wasn't entirely certain what his body would do if he allowed his mind to follow that line of thought. As he lay down, he reveled in the warmth left behind by her body. Heavenly though it was, he knew he would not be finding sleep any time soon.

Samantha yawned and checked the time. Three o'clock. Time to make the hourly observation. She stretched, pulled her notebook towards her, and dipped her quill into an inkpot sitting in the middle of the table, double-checking to make sure it was, in fact, her black ink.

Snape, having quickly given up on sleep, had taken to pacing. He felt as though he was beginning to go mad. For over five months, he had been perfectly capable of spending hours alone in the lab with Samantha. But now it was driving him up the wall. The few heated glances and near touches they'd shared over the evening were not helping things. Not helping _at all_. It was bad enough when he'd identified his own feelings for her, safe in the knowledge that hell would have to freeze over before she would return even an iota of what he felt. Over the past week, however, and certainly the past few hours, he was slowly coming to see that it was not as one-sided as he'd imagined it to be. Damn and blast.

He _was_ flattered, of course he was. But this made the whole situation all the more complicated. The Dark Lord was gaining strength by the day and keeping his cover was becoming increasingly more difficult. The more he knew, the more he had to hide. It helped when he didn't have these blasted feelings clouding his judgment, not to mention that those feelings also had to be occluded.

And yet, there she was, completely oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking in his mind and, to be honest, on his body. He watched intently as she stretched in her chair; back arched, arms clasped over her, her head tipped back, and her hair spilled over her shoulders. And, just to put a bow on it, she moaned in satisfaction as the sore muscles in her back got some relief.

 _Sweet Merlin!_ Would he never have peace?

He came to the conclusion that he was, indeed, a masochist. Against his better judgment, he continued to watch her as she wrote. The lithe fingers that held her quill were stained with ink; hardly a turn-on for most, but the academic in him was having a field day. She raised a delicate eyebrow as her hand stilled. He had discovered over their time working together that this meant that she was deep in thought. It was at once amusing and endearing and it filled him with desire.

Before he could think better of it, he found himself moving to stand behind her. He leaned over her shoulder and placed his hand on the table; to get a better look at her notes and help steady himself, of course. Her hair brushed against his face and he caught its faint scent. It wasn't vanilla or strawberries or, really, anything _clean_ or intrinsically feminine. It was, well, simply Samantha. It was potions ingredients and parchment and _her_. And he was ensnared.

"Severus!" Samantha gasped in surprise at his sudden – and very close – presence. The said Severus was basking in the feeling of hearing her say his name in such a breathless voice.

"Any brilliant observations to share?" He murmured close to her ear.

Samantha could feel his deep voice, slightly rough owing to the late hour, reverberate throughout her entire body. She was glad he couldn't see her face, for she couldn't stop herself from closing her eyes and biting her lip to revel in the feelings that washed over her. She cleared her throat, trying to push past the desire that was flooding through her.

"Nothing particularly earth-shattering," she said, her voice barely a whisper. Samantha cursed herself for not saying anything more substantial. Surely he would go back to his pacing if he saw that he had no more reason to read her notes. She was relieved, elated, frightened, and frustrated when, if anything, he only seemed to inch closer to her. The hand that rested on the back of her chair was just out of contact with her shoulder blade and its mate lay on the table, painfully close to her own.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her pinky, without so much as a by your leave, inched closer to his hand and lightly brushed his thumb. She nearly cried out in relief when his thumb closed the gap between their hands and she watched as Snape nudged the digit under her pinky. Samantha wrapped her pinky around his thumb, feeling as though she could whimper at the innocent yet excruciatingly erotic contact. In fact, she thought for a moment that she had whimpered, for she could swear she'd heard it.

It hadn't been Samantha at all, in the end. Snape, upon feeling the answering pressure on his hand, let the noise escape from his throat. Realizing that it had been the man currently torturing her with his proximity who had made the noise, which was unmistakably colored with desire, would have brought her to her knees if she'd been upright. As it was, she was tight as a knot and yet felt as though she could melt to the floor without a moment's notice. When she felt a finger from his hand resting on the back of her chair tentatively reach out to rub small, light circles on her shoulder blade, she let out the soft moan that had been stifled by her newfound inability to breathe. She was sure that every nerve ending in her entire body was set on high alert as the delicious, though limited, contact sent waves of pleasure through her.

Both witch and wizard were certain that they'd forgotten how to breathe. Both sets of eyes – one a piercing green, the other a bottomless black – were unwaveringly fixed on their joined fingers. Samantha slowly began to move her pinky along his thumb, urging him to join her pace. As he did so, she became completely aware of both the absurdity at finding herself so undone by such innocent contact, as well as the thinly veiled innuendo of the stroking and sliding of their fingers along one another.

Snape knew that he would completely lose his senses if he allowed events to unfold. As he moved his hand to completely cover her own, he was pretty sure he wanted to know exactly what that felt like. Her fingers came up to lace through his much longer ones and her thumb ran persistently over his own. As if acting on its own volition, his other hand moved to rest on her shoulder and his thumb began traveling up and down the length of her neck.

At that moment Samantha knew – just _knew_ – that she could not go another minute without kissing him. She moved her head back until they were cheek-to-cheek. Snape seemed to sense her intent, for the hand on her shoulder slid down her arm until she felt as though she was completely surrounded by his presence. As she turned her head, she could feel his warm breath on her lips and closed her eyes in anticipation of what she was sure would be delicious surrender.

"Samantha?" Came the question not from the man she desperately wanted to snog senseless, but, rather, from the vicinity of the cage occupying the other side of the room. Snape snapped upright, completely severing all contact between the two. Samantha felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her.

Wait a minute. A voice from the cage? She checked the time. It was only four o'clock, the moon was still out. Her head whipped over to the cage to find a tired, but fully human, Remus Lupin looking rather bewildered as he inspected his hands.

 _"Remus?"_ Samantha asked, sounding rather bewildered herself. She glanced up at Snape who, though clearly stunned by the turn of events, looked as though he wanted to murder the man. As she stood, she nonchalantly placed her hand upon his, which was grasping her chair with white-knuckle force.

"What happened?" The caged man asked, still inspecting himself to make sure that he was, indeed, in human form.

"Well," Samantha started, an embarrassed blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I'm not entirely sure." Lupin cocked his head at her. "One moment you were a sleeping werewolf and the next, I heard my name. I guess I must have gotten too engrossed in my notes."

"Oh," he said simply, though sounding disappointed by her lack of information. "What do we do now?"

Samantha glanced at Snape.

"I hate to say this, but I don't feel comfortable letting you out just yet. I'm not sure why you've gone back to your human form before the night was out. I don't want to risk the chance that you might transform again."

Lupin winced at the thought of having to transform twice in one night.

"But, this is encouraging," she assured him, trying to ease his discomfort and humiliation at having to be locked up in a cage all night as a human. "If you remain in human form for the rest of the night, it would seem to imply that the cure of the transformation process works in reverse. We can work on strengthening the existing potion to, if not completely prevent transformation, at least significantly cut down on the amount of time you must assume your wolf form. I know this isn't the miracle cure we wanted, but it's a start."

Lupin nodded.

"I have learned over the years to not get my expectations up too high when talk of cures comes up. The Wolfsbane potion was, I thought, the best that I could hope for. Now, not only did this potion work like Wolfsbane during the transformation, but it is possible to foresee a day in which I would only have to spend a few short hours or even minutes as a wolf."

"You really are the best test subject I could have had for these experiments, Remus. I want you to know that. Many people, whatever the experiment may be, seem to think that miracle cures pop up all the time and that they will always be the ones to benefit. These things take time, years, _decades_. And it certainly doesn't help that the wizarding world has been so dead set against helping those in your condition, so we are only beginning to make progress."

"Much as I hate to interrupt this little heart-to-heart," Snape cut in, a prominent sneer on his face as he continued, "should you not be recording your observations on this development?"

Samantha knew he was right, but was deeply hurt by his tone. Just minutes before they had been on the edge of throwing themselves headlong into their mutual desire (probably good, then, that Lupin _had_ interrupted them), and now he was treating her worse than he had when they had first met and nearly as bad as his students at that.

"Of course, _Professor_ ," she responded acidly. Lupin watched the exchange with interest, wondering what could have so altered their interactions in so short a time.

The atmosphere remained unbearably tense for the rest of the night. The room seemed to grow colder the more Samantha and Snape refused to even meet each other's eyes. Samantha knew that she was being rather childish in giving him the silent treatment but, in her defense, he _had_ started it. She could not stop replaying the scene that had unfolded prior to Lupin's interruption. She was saddened, however, to note that the more she thought about it, the less it evoked desire and the more she felt confused, hurt, and rejected. But it was impossible to stop herself. Not with the irritating man sitting across from her, pointedly ignoring her presence.

And yet, despite her confusion and hurt, she had no intention of giving up the ghost of further exploring just how deep their pools of passion really went. The shadows were growing, yes, and the complications were multiplying, but she was not prepared to abandon something that felt a lot like the beginnings of love.


	11. Callings

Snape had been asleep for scarcely two hours when he felt the wretched mark on his left forearm begin to burn. They had only just finished making their final observations on the experiment, upon which he'd immediately left to seek out the comfort of his bed. He swore he was getting too old for this; for both the all-nighter and the desire that coursed through him every time he was in the same room with _that woman_. He had contemplated taking a Dreamless Sleep, but upon feeling his mark spring to life, he was grudgingly glad he hadn't. It wouldn't do to show up in front of Voldemort half-asleep and unable to shield his mind, especially not with what he'd spent the night doing.

Not three months ago, Snape might have wondered what the Dark Lord was playing at, calling his followers so early on a Sunday morning. In recent weeks, however, the lunatic had become so unpredictable and impulsive that Snape had stopped trying to interpret his actions. While Snape had been on the receiving end of more punishments than he had been in the past as a result, he also knew that these were weaknesses that Potter could take advantage of when the time came.

'For Lily,' he reminded himself. This was the mantra that had gotten him through nearly two decades of risking life and limb for the cause. Now, though, it was starting to ring hollow. He wasn't sure how much longer he could continue to pledge his ultimate allegiance to a dead woman who had severed all ties with him more than twenty years previous. He _had_ promised, however, to keep her child safe. _That_ he would do, no matter whether or not he was beginning to feel that the undying love he thought he'd held for her was fading. Or, more precisely, perhaps he was beginning to understand that the love he had felt, and still did to some extent, was the love of children, of adolescents. He'd never had a _real_ romantic relationship with her; they were never more than friends as children and practically sworn enemies by the time they had finished school.

He found comfort in relying upon her memory to continue, however. She was dead and gone and it was impossible for her to betray him. It was easy to pledge allegiance to someone who was incapable of using him. At the same time, more and more it began to feel as if he were being faithful to the _idea_ of Lily, rather than the girl he'd known. She had become perfect in death and all of her faults had been swept under the rug in his desperate need to find something to carry him through his duties. And now Snape was starting to feel as though he had found something living and breathing to cling to.

Those were thoughts better left for later, however. He needed to clear his mind and concentrate on information gathering, not contemplate the meaning of life. Snape grabbed his mask and cloak and walked to the fireplace to inform Dumbledore of his departure.

"I've been called," was all he said when the headmaster's head appeared in the green flames. Dumbledore nodded, concern written across his face.

"Be careful," he replied. Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. As if that pearl of wisdom had thus far escaped his notice.

Snape stowed his Death Eater garb away in his robes and ascended from the dungeons to the entrance hall. Just as he was coming out of the corridor leading to the dungeons, he saw Samantha making her way to the main doors. She was well-dressed and wore a Muggle coat, rather than the traveling cloak she normally wore to quidditch matches and on Hogsmeade weekends. He hid in the shadows as she left the castle. Much as he wanted to follow her, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Snape apparated to Malfoy Manor and was more than a little apprehensive when he saw none of his erstwhile compatriots making their way to the large entrance. Was he that late or had he been called alone? Neither scenario eased the sense of dread that was beginning to settle like a boulder in his stomach.

One of the house elves – Minky? Mindy? – opened the door for him and beckoned for him to follow her. Upon entering the study, Snape found himself alone with Voldemort and his familiar.

"Severus," he heard the half-man half-snake hiss from his wing backed chair in front of the fire.

"My Lord," Snape answered as he came to kneel in front of him, face downturned, though frightfully aware of the snake's position on the back of his chair.

"Remove your mask, we are not standing upon ceremony this morning," Voldemort instructed. Snape did as he was told and sat in the chair opposite him.

"What is it that you would like to ask of me?" Snape asked, desperately wanting Voldemort to get to the point, something that the dark wizard had become completely incapable of doing as of late.

"Tell me, Severus, what is your relationship with the Muggle Studies teacher?"

Snape felt his heart drop. He knew it was all a mistake, that he should have been more discrete, if not completely shut her out the moment she'd tried to needle her way into his life. He was careful, however, not to let these emotions cross his face or cloud his mind.

"We are colleagues, my Lord," Snape answered simply. Voldemort did not seem appeased.

"Then the Malfoy boy has been inventing stories?" Voldemort asked, watching Snape carefully for his reaction. "Just last week Lucius received a letter from his son. He seems to believe that you are much more than that. So, Severus, I am going to give you another chance to answer me. _Truthfully_."

Snape eyed Nagini warily before answering.

"The old fool requested that I allow her space to brew in my private lab," Snape answered truthfully, just as Voldemort had asked. "She has unfortunate alliances, but I cannot say that she is not brilliant. It is a welcome change from the normal incompetence I am faced with."

"And she is beautiful, too?" Voldemort said more than asked, obviously he already knew.

"Relatively speaking. Every other female in the castle is either a student or a few decades older than myself. That is, I confess, yet another welcome change," Snape said in an attempt at humor that might put Voldemort off asking him if there was anything deeper between them.

"You are quite isolated in that castle, aren't you Severus? I commend you for remaining so loyal for so long even while locking yourself up with those traitors and mudbloods."

Snape inclined his head in thanks.

"Anything for the cause, my Lord," Snape said vaguely. So what if he meant the Light? His words satisfied the paranoid lunatic sitting opposite him and that's what kept him breathing.

"Anything," Voldemort repeated, more to himself than to Snape. "I trust she is still ignorant of her muggle husband's demise?"

"She is, my Lord," Snape lied. "Dumbledore is no more keen to let her know that he is using her than you are."

Voldemort laughed at his servant's forthrightness.

"Albus Dumbeldore: champion of all that is good and pure in the world," Voldemort said with what amounted to a sneer on his serpentine face. Snape obligingly smirked in response, all the while feeling guilty for agreeing with _Voldemort_ on his estimation of Dumbledore's hypocrisy. "And what of her potion?"

"Nothing but dead ends," Snape reported. "I have carefully misguided her along the way. She is no closer to a cure than Potter is to brewing an acceptable Swelling Solution."

"Is she becoming disheartened?"

"She is displeased with her lack of success thus far. She is ambitious, though. Stubborn though she may be in pushing ahead when all roads seem to lead to failure, the Sorting Hat was right to put her in Slytherin. Her ambition to succeed far outweighs any ridiculous Gryffindor notions of courage in the face of adversity."

Voldemort looked very interested at this new development.

"She was sorted?" Snape nodded. "And Slytherin, no less. Well, this will make your task all the more effortless to complete."

"My Lord?"

"Convince her that to continue on her potion at the present is useless. Surely there is another far less harmful project you could propose she work on."

"On the pretense that she needs to step back from her current work?" Snape finished Voldemort's thoughts. Voldemort nodded, clearly pleased.

"Intuitive as always, my faithful servant."

"I serve at my Lord's pleasure," Snape responded dutifully.

"And serve well," Voldemort said with what Snape guessed would have been an indulgent smile on a normal human face. "Well, Severus, you have your orders, that is all I require of you. Return to the castle to enjoy your Sunday."

"Thank you, my Lord, I will not fail you," Snape assured the madman as he stood. He bowed and moved to the door.

"Oh, Severus," Voldemort called nonchalantly from his chair. Snape stopped just as he had reached the door, dreading what he knew what was coming. "I do believe you recall keeping the full truth from me regarding your relationship with your… _colleague_." Snape braced himself and waited for the ax to fall. Never one to disappoint, Voldemort raised his wand. " _Crucio_."

Snape fell to the ground in agony, too tired to keep the groans of pain from escaping his throat. Perhaps thinking himself magnanimous, Voldemort broke the curse after mere moments and did not recast it once Snape had regained his senses.

"You may go," Voldemort said, casually waving his hand toward the door.

"Thank you, my Lord," Snape said again as he backed out of the room.

Thinking, in a moment of uncharacteristic optimism, that his meeting could have gone _much_ worse (despite the trifle that he'd been hit with the Cruciatus Curse at the hands of the Dark Lord), Snape made his way back to the gates of Malfoy Manor in order to apparate to Hogwarts. He still wasn't sure, however, if he wanted to let Samantha know that she was the sole topic of discussion between himself and the Dark Lord. It was usually Potter or Dumbledore who held that dubious honor and he was not pleased that his association with her may have made her an even bigger target than she already was. However, he was also mindful of the fact that Voldemort didn't seem to want anything more than for him to divert her attention away from her potion. Foolish though the thought might have been, he wasn't entirely sure that the Dark Lord would begrudge him beautiful and intelligent companionship, provided that he completed his mission. This was all, of course, the sort of wishful thinking that could end with one, or both, of their deaths.

Snape, though still suffering the aftereffects of the curse, apparated back to the castle and slowly made his way to the main doors. However much he wanted to seclude himself in his rooms for the remainder of the day, he knew he was obliged to report to the headmaster before he could be released from his duties for the day.

Once ensconced in Dumbledore's office and the obligatory tea and lemon drops offered, Snape began to relate the contents of the discussion he had just had with Voldemort.

"His fascination with her has nothing to do with you," Dumbledore said after Snape had finished. Snape cursed the old man's now legendary omniscience.

"If Draco had not written Lucius, I doubt the Dark Lord would have concocted this particular scheme. Or, if he had, it would not have merited a tête-à-tête with me," Snape said, completely abandoning the façade of disinterest in her well-being. Dumbledore knew better and Snape was too tired to play games.

"Voldemort had her husband murdered, Severus. Do you honestly think that Mr. Malfoy's report to his father regarding your interactions with Samantha has made her any more or less desirable in his plans?" Snape sighed.

"Albus, I cannot let it happen again," he said quietly. Dumbledore regarded him silently for a moment. Snape resolutely kept his eyes focused on the desk that stood between them.

"Will she join the Order?" Dumbledore asked, thankfully moving away from the subject of Snape's feelings towards his fellow professor. Snape's head snapped up. "Oh, don't think I don't know that you've already told her everything."

"Interfering old man," Snape mumbled. Dumbledore pretended not to hear him. "She will. Lupin told me that she has already guessed that there is an organized movement outside of the Ministry's control."

"Remus was no doubt surprised that you told her of your loyalties?" Dumbledore said more than asked. It was an annoying habit and one, Snape thought with a shiver, that the headmaster shared with Voldemort. "It is no matter. She would have found out one way or another."

"You always meant for her to be an Order member?" Snape asked, not entirely surprised by the idea.

"I hoped for her to be. I know what side she's on, but I was not yet sure how dedicated she would be to actively pursuing the cause. I believe I have my answer now."

"And what has led you to your conclusion?"

"Oh, this and that," Dumbledore answered cryptically, eyes twinkling. Snape refused to push him on the matter because, given the look on the headmaster's face, he did not want to know what was going through the old man's head.

Whispering amongst the portraits abruptly ended their conversation. Dumbledore looked expectantly at the painting of Phineas Black.

"She has returned," the taciturn former headmaster told Dumbledore.

"Excellent," the current headmaster said as he clapped his hands together and stood. "Severus, please wait for me here as I intercept our newest Order member."

"You have the portraits spying on her?" Snape asked incredulously.

"Not spying, my boy, keeping an eye out," Dumbledore answered as he opened the door. Snape rolled his eyes at the semantics.

The moment the door was closed, Snape could swear he heard his name being called. He turned in his chair back to the door, only to see that it remained shut.

"Is that greasy hair blocking up your ears as well?" Came the voice from over his left shoulder. He knew that voice. Blasted thing. He turned and stood to face the Sorting Hat. "How do you like your new house member?"

"She'll do," Snape answered vaguely, not feeling particularly keen on commending the hat on its decision.

"I'm sure she'd be hurt to hear such nonchalance," the hat informed him.

"And how would you know?" Snape asked. This was certainly worth hearing.

"It's all in her head." The damned hat was smirking at him! Snape moved to stand before the shelf upon which the hat sat and crossed his arms. "You can't intimidate me, Snape."

" _Professor_ Snape," he bit out. He was sure that he'd had to say that more times than any other professor in the entire castle.

"Professor or not, you were just a scared little boy when I met you."

"Why do I bother?" Snape huffed and moved to return to his seat. "Bloody piece of –"

"Now, that's no way to get it out of me," the hat chided him. Snape turned around to face the hat once more.

"Do go on," Snape said with an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

"She didn't treat me much better than you," the hat informed him. "Then again, she didn't like that I insulted you."

Pushing aside the knowledge that she defended him to the Sorting Hat, Snape continued to probe for more information.

"And just how did my name come up?"

"It was because of you she wanted to be sorted to begin with.”

Snape opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by Samantha's appearance in the room. He did not miss the slight widening of her eyes when she saw who – or what, rather – he had been talking to.

"Severus," she greeted him, sounding a little nervous, though her voice had a sharp edge to it. He supposed he deserved it after the way he'd treated her that morning. Dumbledore came in behind her and bounced – yes, bounced – to his desk.

"Well, now that we are all assembled," he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

The two teachers did as they were bid and waited for him to continue. While Dumbledore situated his robes about him, Snape took the opportunity to glance at Samantha. He was surprised to see that she in no way looked as though she'd been up all night. In fact, she looked, well, peaceful was the only way he could put it. As he turned to face the headmaster once more, the faint scent of incense caught him. That was the second time she'd smelled like that. He was going to have to investigate once they'd finished here.

"Severus has informed me that you have been made aware of certain events concerning your late husband," Dumbledore started, Snape rolled his eyes at his evasion of the truth. Samantha nodded, her eyes taking on a steely glint that surprised Snape. "And I hear from Remus that you asked him an underground resistance against Voldemort."

"I did, headmaster," she said shortly. He nodded.

"It is called the Order of the Phoenix," he explained. "There are members of the Ministry involved, but the Ministry at large is not entirely aware of its existence. Or, at least, not that it is quite so large or organized as it is."

"Why did you wait so long to ask me?" Samantha jumped in unceremoniously.

Snape was torn between surprise at her question and amusement at the uncharacteristic look of astonishment on Dumbledore's face, though it quickly faded into a knowing smile.

"Severus asked me just that only minutes ago."

Samantha barely glanced over at Snape before turning to face the headmaster once more. Yes, they definitely needed to rebuild some bridges.

"And?" She raised an eyebrow when Dumbledore gestured to Snape to explain.

"This and that," he sneered. She furrowed her brow and looked expectantly toward Dumbledore.

"It is no matter now," he said, moving the conversation forward. "I am asking you now. Will you join the Order of the Phoenix and pledge your life to the cause of the Light?"

Samantha sat very still for a moment before answering; even her breathing seemed to have halted. Snape watched as she stared at Dumbledore, her eyes hard and calculating. For a moment, he thought he had overestimated her willingness to fight, but found his answer for her hesitation when she began to speak.

"As long as you never again withhold the kind of information you kept from me from the moment we met. If I am to offer up my life for this, I need to know that I will not be lied to."

Clearly, Snape had underestimated her ability to negotiate. Well done, hat.

"Some information is not shared evenly amongst members–" Dumbledore started.

"I am not asking for state secrets," she cut in. "I am telling you that I must be convinced that should something concerning my person come to light, I insist that I be informed on the matter. I won't put my life in the hands of those who would keep me ignorant of threats to my life because it doesn't suit their purpose."

Dumbledore's eyes seemed to harden for a moment, but softened as he nodded.

"It was wrong of me to keep you in the dark on the circumstances of your husband's death. You deserved to know the truth," he held up a hand as Samantha opened her mouth to speak. "I don't know that I can promise that absolutely, but I _can_ tell you that I will do my best to ensure that you are not lied to."

Samantha did not look as though she was satisfied by Dumbledore's assurances of mights and maybes. She turned to look at Snape, the question plain on her face. He held her gaze for a moment and then nodded.

That seemed to be all she needed, for she turned back to the headmaster to answer him.

"I will."

"Very well," said Dumbledore. "You will be formally inducted into the Order over the holidays. I will let you know the specifics when we set a more concrete date for our next meeting. Good day."

Taking this as their dismissal, the two made their way down the spiral staircase and back to the entrance hall. Snape knew he had to apologize now for his behavior before it festered and drove her completely away from him.

"Samantha," he called, thankful that the castle was almost entirely deserted owing to it being the last Hogsmeade weekend of the term. She stopped, her foot on the first step of the staircase. "Would you mind accompanying me to the lab?"

She turned around and regarded him for a moment, clearly trying to decipher his motives. He put as innocent and contrite a look on his face as was possible.

"Fine," she said finally, turning from the staircase that led her rooms. Her heels clicked loudly on the stone floor as she crossed the hall to join him. As she fell into step with him, he once more caught the scent of incense, stronger now that she was nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

"You look," he paused for a moment and she looked expectantly at him as they wound their way through the corridors leading to the dungeons. "Nice," he finished lamely. She raised her eyebrow at his lack luster compliment, but took it with grace.

"Thank you," she said, though she kept her head forward and didn't spare a single glance at him. He had hoped that she would be inspired to share with him why she looked so "nice" (he mentally smacked himself for using so insipid a term), but quickly saw that he was going to have to try harder than that. She wasn't sorted into Slytherin for nothing.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, the question sounding ridiculous as it left his mouth. Did she sleep well? Severus Snape did not inquire after people's sleeping habits. She looked at him oddly, clearly wondering the same thing.

"I didn't bother," she said, the confusion still clear in her voice. "It wasn't worth it as I would have only been able to get an hour or two before I had to get up."

Once more she stopped just short of an explanation. He was just going to have to come out and ask her.

They reached his office and he wordlessly unwarded and opened the door, standing back to allow her to enter before him. She walked across the office to the lab without a single glance back. He shut the door and followed her to the lab, shutting that door as well.

"For?" He continued with an obvious prompt for her. He winced at the baldness of the question, but it was a question that had gone unanswered for over three months and he was getting impatient. She seemed hesitant to tell him. "You obviously weren't out for the Hogsmeade visit."

"I was at Mass, if you _must_ know," she answered finally, not happy that she had to part with her secret. Recognition did not show on Snape's face. "You know, church?"

"Oh," was all that came out.

"See? This is why I don't tell anyone magical," she said more to herself than to him.

"That you are religious?" She nodded.

"It seems odd that muggles have a much easier time believing in such things," she said with a forced laugh. "I'm not saying that the wizarding world is atheistic or anything, we would not have such a fascination with magic's effects on the soul if it were. But organized religion, and particularly my own faith, are not generally looked well upon."

"And what are you?" Snape asked.

"I'm Catholic," she answered.

"That explains the incense," he murmured, not really intending for her to hear him. She snorted.

"Father Matthews does enjoy his incense," she said with a smile. Snape did not want to admit to himself how happy he was to see that smile. "Anyway, _I_ like to think it's the most magical of religions. Aside from the obvious history, perhaps what puts wizards off Catholicism in particular is the notion that a muggle could perform what amounts to 'magic.'"

"Magic?" Snape asked. He had to admit that his knowledge of Catholicism, and religion in general, was limited at best, but closer to non-existent. He may have grown up in the muggle world, but his father was not the church-going type.

Samantha seemed to be deciding as to whether or not she really wanted to explain it to him.

"I'll give you the abridged version, but to understand really why we believe this, well, I could spend weeks explaining it." She took a deep breath and continued. "What others would call a 'service,' we call a 'Mass.' We do have services and there is a distinct difference between the two, but that really has very little to do with what I'm trying to say," she said this almost to herself, as if she were berating herself for getting off topic. "What I meant by magic is what Catholics call 'transubstantiation.' This is the point in the Mass at which the priest consecrates the bread and the wine, which then become the body and blood of Christ."

Snape looked mildly repulsed by the idea. Samantha sighed, though he wasn't sure if she was frustrated with him or with herself for not explaining it properly.

"Transubstantiation, Severus, not trans _form_ ation. The substance changes, but the form remains. It still looks like bread, it still tastes like wine. It's just…" She trailed off, a thoughtful look coming across her face. "Substance, not form."

"Yes, I got that," Snape said in annoyance. He didn't really, but he understood the semantics.

"No, no," she said insistently. "Substance, not form. Don't you get it? He transforms, but it's his substance we need to change."

Suddenly Snape knew exactly what she was on to. And it was brilliant.

"We've been doing this all wrong. How could I have not seen this before? I go to Mass every Sunday, but the idea of changing substance and not form never once occurred to me," she said breathlessly as she moved to get her notebook from the table. "I always wanted to do more than prevent transformation, but now we have a new interpretive lens. We weren't going deep enough. This is more than blood and sinew."

Snape was enthralled by her fervor. As tired as he knew she must be, the air fairly crackled around her as she wrote feverishly in her battered notebook. She was positively stunning in the midst of her intellectual high.

As he watched her, he knew that she wouldn't stop until she had teased out every last thought on the matter. She was ruthless in her pursuit of success and it would pay off. She would succeed. He grimaced. Voldemort would not be happy.


	12. The Changing Tide

Samantha learned by owl two days after their discussion that the next Order meeting, featuring her induction, would be held the Sunday directly following the last day of classes. She had to admit that she was nervous, though she was glad to have resolved what had seemed to be her greatest conflict. While Snape and Dumbledore probably would have guessed that it was her ire over having important information withheld from her, she had been fighting something more like a spiritual battle within herself.

After leaving Snape's lab – though she supposed she could claim at least some ownership to it by now – she had let herself go over the meeting in her head, now that she had taken copious notes on her new insight into the potion. Her mind, time and time again, returned to the idea of having to swear her life to the cause. She wasn't sure how to reconcile that oath with the unwavering dedication she tried her best to maintain to her faith. Was she willing to make herself a martyr for anything but that? Samantha tried to make the analogy between what she was doing and the pledge that any soldier would make to his country. It didn't quite fit, however, because the Order was an underground organization. Then again, the Ministry _was_ completely incompetent and given their often unlawful actions, she knew she could be justified in rejecting their authority. It was this final thought that stopped her hand from grabbing the floo powder and calling the whole thing off. She remained uneasy about putting complete trust in those who had, if not lied, then at least had not been forthcoming with the truth regarding her husband's death, the danger she herself faced, and the reason she had been hired on at Hogwarts. However, she also knew that Voldemort had to be stopped and that the Order was the world's – both magical _and_ muggle – best hope.

Thinking back on it, she found that she was glad she'd been given so little time to second-guess herself. However, there was still one person she had to consult before she would allow her induction to go forward. And it was for this reason that she was currently on her way to inform the headmaster that she would be absent from dinner that evening. While teachers were generally left to themselves off hours, unless they were assigned rounds, it was considered common courtesy to inform either Dumbledore or McGonagall should they be conspicuously absent, if only for safety's sake. One never knew these days.

Samantha gave the password to the gargoyle and walked up the moving staircase to find that the office door was already open. Well, not so much open as much as not completely closed.

"You stupid man," she could hear Snape's irritated voice emanating from the room. It was unmistakably laced with deep concern and for a moment she thought to walk right in to find out what was wrong.

"Perhaps I am," Dumbledore responded resignedly. "I am not quite so agile as I once was."

"Why did you not contact me immediately? You waited an entire day. That could mean the difference between merely slowing it down before it kills you and a cure, full stop," Snape snapped at him. She could hear him murmur something that sounded like a spell, but it was nothing she recognized.

"You had classes," the headmaster explained. Samantha could practically hear Snape roll his eyes. Snape's murmuring stopped and one of them, she could not tell whom, sighed loudly.

"That is the best I can do for now," Snape said at last. He did not sound hopeful.

Samantha was sure he was preparing to walk towards the door and she panicked. She couldn't escape now; surely they would hear her leave. They had been engrossed in their conversation before, but now they were absolutely silent. Finally making up her mind to feign ignorance (stupid, really, given that both men were exemplary practitioners of legilimency), she knocked on the door.

"You can some in now, Samantha," she heard Dumbledore call. She winced as she opened the door to find the headmaster smiling serenely as he sat behind his desk and Snape looking uncharacteristically flustered as he stood beside him.

"I –," Samantha stopped when she saw his blackened hand on the desk. "Sir, your hand." Dumbledore raised it from the desk and gazed at it as if it were some sort of interesting specimen.

"Yes, an unfortunate accident, I'm afraid," he said, sounding curiously disinterested in, if Snape was to be believed, the possibility of his impending death. He continued, however, clearly wishing to change the subject. "What can I do for you, my dear?"

Samantha, somewhat shaken by what she'd heard as well as the sight of his disfigured hand, took a moment to recall why she'd sought him out to begin with.

"Must I be here for this?" Snape drawled. Samantha glared at him and turned resolutely back to Dumbledore.

"I wanted to inform you, headmaster, that I will not be present at dinner tonight. I have an appointment with someone I must speak to before Sunday," she explained. The bored look on Snape's face was instantly replaced with bald curiosity.

"I am not sure how safe it is for you to be leaving the castle. Especially at night and on your own," Dumbledore said carefully. Snape glanced at Dumbledore out of the corner of his eye, clearly not liking where he was going with this.

"Sir, I understand your concern, but I cannot swear any oaths until I have spoken with this man," she answered him insistently. Dumbledore rested his chin on his steepled fingers, looking thoughtful.

"I have the perfect solution," he said, though Samantha got the distinct impression that it hadn't just come to him. "Severus, would you mind terribly?"

"I would," Snape answered immediately. He instantly regretted his snappish attitude when he saw the desperate look in Samantha's eyes. He gazed at her intently for a moment before slowly turning his head back to Dumbledore, who was looking up at him expectantly. "Very well," he said at last. "Where is it that I am accompanying you to?"

Samantha was apprehensive about telling him, but knew she couldn't very well keep it a secret if he were going with her.

"I have to go speak with my priest," she told him in a small voice. She wasn't quite sure why she was so embarrassed to tell him. It was, perhaps, because she didn't want him to think that she couldn't think for herself. She could, of course, but Father Matthews' advice had been invaluable to her over the years and she knew that she couldn't go forward with such an important decision without at least telling him about it.

To her surprise, Snape didn't roll his eyes or make a snide comment about her being weak-willed (or minded, for that matter). He simply nodded and moved past her to open the door, stepping aside to allow her to precede him. She hid a smile. Hopelessly disagreeable though he often was, he still managed to be chivalrous in his own way.

"Thank you, Severus," she said quietly as she passed him. He made a noise in the back of his throat that she took to mean "you're welcome." It was the little things.

He followed her out to the front gates and, after closing them securely, he turned to look expectantly at her.

"Oh, right," she said lamely as she noticed his growing irritation. "Well, I guess we should do side-along apparition, then." She held out her hand and waited for him to come to her. As soon as she'd done so, she realized that she could have simply grabbed his wool-clad arm, but it was done. Her hand was out there and she was waiting for him to take it.

The moment he did finally slip his hand into hers, her mind immediately transported her back to their encounter during the experiment in the Room of Requirement. She fought the urge to lace her fingers through his and concentrated hard on clearing her mind in order to avoid splinching them. It certainly wouldn't do to bollocks up an apparition to meet with her _priest_ because she was too busy wrestling with her arousal.

_"Well?"_ His voice cut through the internal battle she was waging.

She jumped and murmured a quiet apology before apparating them to the graveyard near the church. While his hand let go of hers the moment they had arrived, she couldn't help but notice that he allowed his fingers to brush along her hand as he stepped onto the path. In doing so, she suddenly noticed that he was still dressed in his full, black, imposing, and, most importantly, _wizarding_ regalia. He looked down at himself when he realized she was inspecting him and, to her delight, he looked faintly sheepish by his inattention to his appearance.

"No matter, Severus," she reassured him. "We aren't going far and he is aware of our, um, of our situation." As they reached the street, she continued, "Pity there isn't a university nearby. You could probably pass for an eccentric professor."

"I _am_ an eccentric professor," he said in defense. Samantha jokingly pursed her lips in thought.

"That's one way to put it," she said cheekily. He gave her a sour look and she tried valiantly to smother her giggles. Even as they walked up the steps leading to the rectory's front door, she could feel the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Annoyed though he may have looked, Snape was inordinately pleased that Samantha seemed to have forgiven him, even if he had never really apologized. He _was_ frustrated, but it had nothing to do with Samantha's ribbing and everything to do with how warm and soft her hand had felt in his. The moment their hands made contact, the torrent of desire hit him full force, just as it had during their moment of indiscretion in the midst of the experiment. He had only prompted her to leave the moment he realized that if she didn't apparate them soon, he was either going to kiss her senseless or be so thoroughly distracted that they ended up splinched. He wasn't so sure he'd have minded the former, but he had never splinched himself and he didn't want to start now. Especially not with the explanation that he had simply been too busy trying to restrain himself from jumping his apparition partner to pay attention to what he was doing.

His thoughts were cut short when she raised her hand to knock on the door. Moments later, a man, whom Snape assumed was her priest by his attire, answered the door. He was an older man, probably at least in his sixties, and had a full head of gray hair that was well on its way to turning white. While he was wearing the customary white collar round his neck, he also had an apron tied around his waist and a dishtowel thrown over his shoulder.

"Father," Samantha said sweetly as she kissed his cheeks. "I am so glad you could see me on such short notice." He immediately waved off her comments.

"It is nothing, my child. I'm a lonely old man with no one to cook for. Come in, come in," he said as he stepped back to allow her room to enter. "Ah and you've brought someone. Splendid!"

Snape saw Samantha bite her lips to keep from laughing. No one who knew Snape would ever think it was splendid that he'd turned up for supper. While the priest did look Snape up and down more than once, he clearly wasn't put off by Snape's appearance. He seemed positively enchanted.

"Well come in out of the cold, then," he said to Snape, who was still standing on the doorstep. Snape did as he was told and stepped into the narrow entryway to stand next to Samantha.

"I should have told you I was bringing someone else. It's just that –," Samantha began to explain.

"No worries!" He assured her as he held out his arms. "Coats, please." Samantha removed her own muggle coat and handed it to him as Snape shrugged out of the voluminous traveling cloak he had summoned on their way out of the castle. "My, you must never feel the cold in this," her priest said as Snape draped the heavy fabric over his arm. He turned to hang up their outerwear and beckoned for them to follow him to the kitchen.

"What are you cooking, Father?" Samantha asked as she followed. "It smells wonderful."

"Nothing special, I assure you," he said with a chuckle. "Just some spaghetti."

"I've had your spaghetti, Father, and I assure _you_ , it _is_ something special," Samantha said, glancing at Snape, who had finally appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, well, it does help to spend a few years living in Rome, doesn't it? The sisters certainly knew how to feed us poor seminarians."

"Do you need any help, Father?" Samantha asked as she moved to retrieve a second apron that hung on the side of a cabinet. It was clear to Snape that she had done this many times before.

"If you insist," he said congenially. "Why don't you sit down, my child?"

It took Snape a moment as well as a pointed look from Samantha to realize that the man was speaking to him. Samantha was relieved to see that he didn't look put out by being called "child."

"Don't worry, he calls everyone that. I suspect he'd even say it to the headmaster, were he to ever meet him," she said with a warm smile to Father Matthews.

"And how old is he?"

"Oh, well over 100 by now," Samantha guessed, laughing at the look of awe on her priest's face. "Wizards and witches age differently, Father, it is not rare for us to live well past 100."

" _Fascinating_ ," he said breathlessly.

"He finds everything about us fascinating, Severus," Samantha explained with an amused smirk. Snape made to respond, but jumped at Father Matthew's cry of surprise.

"Ah, so _this_ is Severus!" Samantha winced in embarrassment as her cheeks turned bright red. Snape was torn between amusement at Samantha's obvious discomfort as well as his own at the knowledge that she had told her priest about him. Knowing, however, that he now had to be formally introduced, he stood.

"I am," Snape said with a nod. "Severus Snape," he extended his hand. Father Matthews took Snape's hand in both of his and squeezed it lightly.

"Father Robert Matthews. I am glad to finally meet you, my son. I know I'm embarrassing her, but Samantha has spoken of you often," he said, still holding Snape's hand. Snape raised his eyebrow and glanced up at Samantha, who was regarding the pasta she was tending to as if it held the secrets of the universe. Father Matthews tugged on Snape's hand to pull him closer and lowered his voice as he continued. "I can't tell you how happy I was to hear that she had befriended someone in her world. She was left quite on her own after Mark's death, you know, and I was worried about her, moving off to a new place and all."

Snape had no idea how to respond to the man's clear concern for Samantha and so merely nodded. He realized suddenly that he was somewhat jealous of Samantha for it. Snape knew that Dumbledore did care for him, but he also knew without a doubt that the headmaster would not hesitate to sacrifice him should he deem it necessary for the greater good. This man, though, seemed to be compassionate to a fault. If he knew the kind of man that Snape really was, the things that he had done, he would not be thanking him for befriending Samantha. He probably wouldn't have even let him past the front door.

"Father, please stop embarrassing Severus and mind your sauce," said Samantha in mock reproach.

"My slave driver beckons," Father Matthews said with a conspiratorial wink as he squeezed Snape's hand once more before turning back to the stove.

Snape sat and watched the two converse quietly. While Samantha wasn't particularly tense at Hogwarts, he still saw the difference in her demeanor in this house. It was as if she'd come home. It occurred to him that he didn't like the idea that she felt as though somewhere other than Hogwarts was home for her. After all, it had been the only place he'd ever known as home for the vast majority of his life. All the same, he couldn't fault her for it. This man clearly cherished her as if she were his own and the sweet, warm smiles she graced him with were genuine and heartfelt. He realized then that he was also jealous of the priest as, Snape was horrified to admit, he found that _he_ wanted to be on the receiving end of those tender smiles.

As Snape allowed his mind to wander, he didn't notice the scrutiny he was under. As soon as he got the feeling that he was being watched, he turned to find that Father Matthews was inspecting his clothing.

"Forgive me, Severus," he said with an embarrassed chuckle. "Does everyone of your kind dress like that?" Samantha snorted from where she stood at the sink. He was sure he heard the word "bat" come out of her mouth, muffled though it may have been. Father Matthews turned to her with a questioning look.

"It depends, Father," she began as she drained the pasta. "Muggleborns often dress in, well, what you would say were normal clothes. Witches and wizards who grew up in predominantly muggle areas generally do as well. Those who are more immersed in the wizarding world tend to dress as Severus does."

"I grew up in a muggle neighborhood," said Snape, though he wasn't quite sure why he sounded so defensive about it.

"You did?" She asked, surprised by the revelation. Snape was reminded by her reaction how little they knew about each other's pasts.

"Yes, my father was a muggle," he explained.

"Oh," came her response. She definitely did not expect that. "Then why do you…" She trailed off.

"You went to school in America, things are different there. More modern. They were to some extent here even in my time at school, but not in Slytherin. I had to live up to the standards of my pureblood housemates."

"Yes, of course you did," she said softly, a hint of remorse hidden in her voice.

"It's not as bad as all that," Snape said, knowing where her thoughts were going. "It was simply tradition. Not all old pureblood families think like the Malfoys, Samantha. Many do, but there are others who retain the old ways because they think it is a part of the wizarding world that is being lost to younger generations."

"And you agree?" Father Matthews asked as he removed plates from the cabinet. Snape sat in thought for a moment. No one had ever asked him his opinion on the matter before.

"We cannot remain completely isolated, it simply isn't practical, but there are certain customs and traditions that, yes, I do agree are being lost as the years go by, and that we are poorer as a culture for it," Snape said, his chin resting on his hand as he thought through his answer.

"You should be Catholic," the priest said with a smile. Snape was at a loss for an answer and looked to Samantha to save him.

"I do believe dinner is ready. And perhaps we can discuss the reason I am here as we eat?" Snape looked as though he wanted to protest at being present during her conversation regarding the Order. "I think it would be beneficial for you to be involved, Severus. Between the two of you, I can make this decision as fully informed as possible."

Once they had settled down to dinner – Samantha was glad that Snape had taken the insistence that they say grace before eating with, well, grace – Samantha tried to formulate a way in which to explain to Father Matthews her dilemma without going into too much detail. She knew he would keep it in the strictest confidence, but she didn't want to give him any information that would make him a target.

"Samantha, I want to remind you that this will not be under the seal of confession because of Severus' presence. Now, you know that I would never betray your secrets, seal or no, but if that changes things for you, I want you to be aware of it before you begin," Father Matthews gently explained to her."

"Of course, Father. I had thought about requesting a confession, but there are so many things I can't tell you even under the seal that it seemed unnecessary." At Snape's questioning look, Samantha continued, "By the seal of the confession, Father Matthews means that he is bound to never reveal anything that is said in confession. Even under pain of death."

"Samantha, if my being here is putting either you or him in an awkward position, I can wait for you in another room," Snape offered. While she had no intention of making him leave the room, she was heartened by the very fact that he had even thought to make the offer.

"Don't worry, Severus, it's fine," she said as she turned to face her priest. "Father, I have been asked to join a…group that is working to defeat –," Samantha stopped, glancing at Snape. Over their time together, she'd come to realize that he was still distinctly uncomfortable with using Voldemort's name. Dumbledore never took his discomfort into account, but, then again, he didn't always take a lot of things that made Snape uncomfortable into account.

"The Dark Lord," Snape finished. Father Matthews raised his eyebrows at the moniker.

"Yes," she continued. "He has been gaining strength over the past few months and we are doing all we can to prevent further defections to the Dark. We are, essentially, at war. It has even begun to affect the muggle world."

"Has it?" He asked, wondering why he wouldn't notice a war being fought around him.

"Muggles don't always notice what is right in front of their faces, no offense Father," Samantha explained.

"None taken, my dear."

"Did you happen to notice that over this summer and well into the fall how unseasonably cold and gray it's been? Even by English standards?"

"Yes, but how is the weather anything to do with your war?"

"The dementors, the guards of the wizarding prison called Azkaban, joined the Death Eaters. They have been let loose upon the population. They suck the souls out of those prisoners who have been condemned to it and their very presence, especially at their current numbers, can suck the happiness out of a room – out of an entire city. And there have been deaths, but because these people were killed with magic, muggles have simply ruled them out as accidents." Father Matthews' face was growing more serious as he began to register her words. "Even given these threats, I am still hesitant to pledge myself to this group."

"Why? If there is such danger, why are you not certain?"

"I must vow to give my life if need be," she said simply. "I am wary of doing so in the face of the Church's teachings on the absolute loyalty she demands."

"Samantha," he said quietly, "Do you believe that the danger that this man poses to us merits the potential loss of lives?" Samantha contemplated his question for a moment before nodding. "And do you believe that this is your last hope? This group you've been asked to join?"

Samantha looked to Snape before answering.

"Yes," she said with finality.

"You have nothing to worry about, then. Wars are extraordinary circumstances and by working to protect the world from his evil, you are protecting the Church."

Samantha looked immensely relieved at this.

"Thank you, Father. I can't possibly imagine why the thought never occurred to me," she said, sounding a little disappointed with herself.

"Now, how about you tell me how your research is going?" Father Matthews asked, trying to steer the conversation away from talk of war. Samantha opened her mouth to respond before Snape cut her off.

"I think, perhaps, that would not be wise," he explained cryptically. Samantha practically stared at him in her confusion, but he shook his head. "Later." She looked mildly mollified by his answer, but worry and confusion continued to color her expression.

"Some day, Father, if we survive this war, I will tell you everything," she said, her voice sounding at once wistful and empty. The worse things got, the less hope she had for a future beyond the war. She looked at Snape then, worry and sadness furrowing her brow. She had the least hope for his survival and the thought filled her with inconsolable grief. Snape met her gaze and she was surprised to find that his face seemed to mirror her own. He looked utterly desolate and she wanted nothing more than to smooth the worry from his face, much as she knew it was impossible to erase from her own.

Father Matthews watched this exchange closely. Up until now, Samantha had been careful to conceal from him just how dire the situation was. Seeing their faces, however, with the sheer terror he knew they felt clearly evident in their expressions filled him with anxiety. At the same time, he saw the concern they felt for each other and, dare he say it, love. He remained silent, allowing them to sort through the myriad of feelings they must have been weighed down by.

"Love," he began quietly, "is vital in times such as these. Whether platonic or romantic in nature. The only way to defeat evil is to fight it with that which it cannot comprehend. The truly evil cannot understand love and the strength it provides for those who cultivate it. Love allows us to see light in every situation, even when we are surrounded by death. It allows us to remain strong where others remain weak in its absence. And the power of sacrificial love, in particular, cannot be underestimated. Sacrificing oneself in love for another is the ultimate expression of the emotion and it inestimably fortifies the one for whom the sacrifice was made."

Snape's eyes were glittering when he commented on Father Matthew's advice. "If only you know how true that was in our world."

The tears were falling freely from Samantha's eyes as she grabbed Father Matthews' hand, kissed it, and pressed it to her forehead.

The priest moved to grasp Snape's hand before he continued. "Join this group, Samantha. Love each other," he said as he looked to both of them. "Love each other to death. It is the only way."

"Yes," she whispered in a strained voice. "Yes," she said again, grabbing Snape's free hand with her own. She felt him tighten his grip, the pressure causing her tears to fall even faster.

Not one of the trio knew how long they sat like that, but Snape finally broke the silence when Samantha's tears seemed to have subsided.

"We must be going," he said, his voice unmistakably rough with emotion. When Dumbledore told him that he had to escort Samantha to meet with her priest, he couldn't have imagined in his wildest dreams how much his life would change after just one conversation with this man whom he had never met before.

Samantha nodded solemnly as she released her hold on both men's hands.

"Sorry for being such a buzz kill, Father," she said as she stood shakily, trying to inject some humor into the room before departing. He tenderly placed his hand on her cheek and kissed her forehead.

"You came to see me for advice on a very difficult matter. Worried as I am now for your safety," he stopped as he looked to Snape "For both your safeties," he amended, "I now know how hard I must pray for your ultimate success. I will say a Mass for you both this weekend. An anonymous intention, of course."

"Thank you, Father," Samantha whispered as she turned to leave. The two men followed her lead.

Once in the entryway and their coats retrieved, Father Matthews stopped them before he allowed them to leave.

"I cannot possibly let you go without a blessing." Raising his right hand and moving it through the air in to trace the shape of a cross, he said the words of the blessing. Snape watched as Samantha bowed her head and crossed herself in a mirror image of her priest's movements. "God bless and protect you, my child." With his thumb, he then traced a cross on Samantha's forehead and kissed it once more. Before Snape could turn to leave, Father Matthews raised his hand to likewise trace a cross on Snape's forehead. He touched his cheek before letting his hand fall back to his side.

As soon as they were back on the sidewalk, Snape let out a deep breath that was easily seen in the cold of the night. He had no idea what had come over him as he listened to the priest talk. He never let his emotions get the best of him, especially not in front of others. Perhaps he was starting to crack under the pressure. And yet, he felt distinctly better than he had when they arrived. As though some sort of weight had been lifted off of him. He knew the thought was absurd, but he would take what he could get these days.

"There is something about that man…" Snape started, but trailed off when he couldn't find the words. Samantha nodded, a small smile on her face.

"I know," she said quietly.

The pair walked back to the apparition point; silent, hand-in-hand, and knowing that something in their relationship had been irrevocably altered. Neither knew yet if it would be for the better in the end or even what it was that had changed, but at the present, it felt like a small comfort in a world that was descending ever more swiftly into darkness with each passing moment.


	13. I Solemnly Swear

In the days following their meeting with Father Matthews, Snape and Samantha kept their distance from each other. Rather than arising out of a sense of awkwardness or tension, however, it seemed to be a mutual, though unspoken, decision stemming from the need to dissect what the priest had said to them and what it meant for their, for lack of a better word, relationship. The moment they had returned to the castle, they simply parted at the Entrance Hall and, without a word, went to their respective quarters.

Keeping their distance was facilitated by the fact that they had entered the last week of term before the holidays. Not only were there term papers and exams to set and grade, but the children themselves were even more of a handful than usual. The professors roamed the hallways during their free periods and doubled up on rounds at night in order to keep the students in check. A number of said students found themselves facing detentions to be served after the break.

During mealtimes, however, it was impossible to escape each other. Pleasantries were exchanged (or at least what counted for "pleasantries" in Snape's vocabulary), but not much more. Samantha found herself spending much more time conversing with Lupin, who, if he even noticed this change in dynamic, never commented on it. The all-seeing and ever-interfering Albus Dumbledore, however, was not above remarking upon the situation to his cantankerous Potions Master.

"Is there some reason you feel the need to ignore your dining partner, Severus?" Dumbledore asked during lunch two days after Snape's and Samantha's revelatory meeting. Snape gripped his fork with white-knuckle force and glared straight ahead, not wanting to dignify the headmaster's question with a response. "I must say, I find her to be quite a charming conversationalist –"

"Albus," Snape said between gritted teeth. "For once in your life. Leave. Me. Be."

"Fine, fine, I just –," Dumbledore stopped when he saw the mutinous look on Snape's face. "I trust you'll have this all sorted by Sunday?"

Snape wasn't sure if the headmaster really wanted an answer, so he chose to remain silent and glean what little satisfaction he could from the stricken faces of the students he chose to look at in his current mood.

Sunday came far too quickly for Samantha. Immediately after lunch, she made her way to the headmaster's office to meet Dumbledore and Snape, as they were to be her traveling companions to the Order headquarters. When she arrived, she found Dumbledore seated behind his desk wearing a benign smile while Snape stood rigidly next to the fireplace, his face set and his eyes crackling with anger. Samantha knew from the look on Snape's face that whatever their altercation had been about, and she was sure there had been one, it was of a serious nature and not just another instance of Dumbledore needling Snape on some trivial matter or another. She had no chance to think further on it, however, for Dumbledore stood almost immediately upon her arrival to usher her over to the fireplace.

"Please read this, my dear," he said as he handed her a slip of parchment. In what she recognized as Dumbledore's narrow, slanted handwriting, she read the following: "The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at 12 Grimmauld Place."

She looked up at the two men, confusion coloring her features.

"One of our many security measures," Dumbledore explained. Samantha nodded as she destroyed the paper. The headmaster nodded in approval of her intuition. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, shall we?" He gestured to the pot of floo powder and stepped back. "Ladies first."

"Thank you, sir," Samantha answered nervously, not really wanting to arrive at an unknown location before the others. She grabbed a pinch of the powder and stepped into the fireplace. "12 Grimmauld Place," she intoned clearly. She was off in a whoosh of green flames and was soon steadying herself in the large fireplace of what she assumed was the kitchen of the house. She quickly stepped out, knowing that both Snape and Dumbledore would be following shortly behind her.

"Are you Samantha, dear?" A matronly woman with flaming red hair came bustling over to her.

"Yes, I am," she said as she extended her hand. The woman took it and patted it gently as she pulled her further into the kitchen. As she did so, the flames flared green again and Snape stepped out of the fireplace, dusting the soot from his clothing (not that anyone could have noticed the difference anyway).

"Molly," he said simply with a sharp nod.

"Oh, Severus, you've lost weight again," the woman admonished him as she maneuvered Samantha to a seat at the enormous table in the middle of the room. "Both of you, so thin! You'd think the house elves weren't doing their job. We'll fix that," she said as she moved back to the stovetop where a number of pots were merrily bubbling away.

"Severus," Samantha greeted him quietly. She smiled softly at him as he nodded her way. He made to leave the kitchen, but she caught the sleeve of his coat. "Please, sit with me." Snape looked as though he was about to deny her request until the red-haired woman placed a teapot on the table. "Tea?" Snape nodded again and sat at the chair at the end of the able. "Where is the headmaster?"

"He will be along shortly, he had some business to attend to," Snape answered vaguely as he methodically prepared his tea.

"I'm Molly Weasley, by the way," the woman said as she placed a plate of biscuits on the table with the tea. Recognition flickered in Samantha's eyes as she took in the woman's red hair once more.

"Ah, yes, of course," Samantha said as she stirred her tea.

"My Ronald hasn't been giving you trouble, has he?" She asked, sounding as though she were preparing to give the boy a stern talking-to even if Samantha hadn't answered in the affirmative.

"He is not in any of my classes, but I did cover Severus' classes for a couple of days earlier this term. He was, ah, not inclined to turn down Miss Granger's assistance," Samantha answered carefully.

Snape snorted inelegantly into his teacup as Molly huffed at her son's disobedience. Samantha gave Snape a sly smile and, though his cup still covered his mouth, she could see the mirth dancing in his eyes. Samantha was relieved to see that he was still capable of interacting with her as they had before what she'd come to call The Talk. She was afraid that the eloquent speech her priest had given them (Father Matthews was particularly prone to histrionics in his homilies) had frightened him off.

"Your daughter, however," Samantha continued, "did garner a detention with me at the start of next term."

Snape raised his eyebrows at her and Molly looked well near apoplectic.

"What has she done now?" Molly asked. Clearly this was not an unusual occurrence.

"Persistent curfew breaking," she explained. Samantha decided it was best to leave out that the young Gryffindor had been persistently breaking curfew with her boyfriend.

"Well, you won't have to worry about her next year," Molly fumed as she returned to the stove.

" _You_ gave out a detention?" Snape asked in what could have been mistaken as genuine surprise.

"I did," Samantha answered with pride. "My first, as a matter of fact, in what I am sure will be a long and illustrious teaching career."

"And how long did it take? Over three months? Tsk, tsk, surely more students have deserved them by now," Snape mockingly scolded her. "I've lost count of the number I've assigned."

"I take house points as well as the rest of you," said Samantha defensively. "Well, perhaps not you."

"I take pride in my work."

"I happen to know that you didn't assign a single detention during the whole of your first year as a teacher," came Dumbledore's voice from the vicinity of the fireplace. Samantha sucked in a deep breath and turned wide eyes to Snape, who was looking rather sour that he'd been called out.

"Ha!" Samantha declared triumphantly.

"Ha, nothing," Snape answered petulantly. "I was only twenty-one when I started teaching with no experience in _anything_. You came in with a stable career in research."

"So research should have given me a better ability to discipline students?"

"Yes," he said simply, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Unbeknownst to the bickering professors, Mrs. Weasley and Dumbledore were watching the two closely. Molly looked to Dumbledore with a smile playing about her lips, one which was also tugging at the corners of the headmaster's mouth. They shared a knowing look and a nod before Molly returned to the many pots and pans covering the stove.

Snape and Samantha conversed quietly for some time before Order members began to filter into the kitchen in preparation for the meeting. Snape's expression darkened exponentially as the number of people filling the kitchen grew. None but Lupin gave him anything more than a curt nod, if they did not cast looks of outright hostility and distrust at him. That was, until, two boys, obviously identical twins and no doubt Weasleys, apparated directly into the kitchen.

"George! Fred!" Molly scolded them as she stood at the sink.

"Sorry mother," the two answered simultaneously, sounding anything but penitential. Samantha could tell right from the off that the two were career troublemakers and, upon making that deduction, realized that they must be the Weasleys behind the joke shop in Diagon Alley.

"You must be Professor Rhodes," one of the boys said as he swiftly made himself at home in the seat next to her on the bench. "George Weasley."

"Samantha Rhodes," she answered, offering him her hand. She was not facing him to see it, but Samantha was sure that Snape did not look pleased as the red haired boy kissed the back of her hand.

"A pleasure, Samantha" he said smoothly.

"As if, mate," his twin chided as he rather daringly leaned on the back of Snape's chair. Snape, Samantha was surprised to see, did not appear put out by it. "I'm Fred," he said as he knelt on the floor to kiss her proffered hand. Samantha laughed at their ridiculous behavior and the two looked as if they couldn't be more pleased by her reaction. "There, see? I made her laugh."

"Yeah, _at_ you," George said to his brother. He turned back to Samantha. "No use bothering with him, Samantha, nothing but a prankster, that one."

"Who said I'll be bothering with either of you?" Samantha asked, still laughing.

Snape looked to be quite pleased by her answer, a look that was bordering conspicuously on smug. It was a response that was not lost on the troublemaking twins.

"Good on yeh, professor," George said boldly as he stood to steal a few bites of food. Samantha half expected him to clap Snape on the shoulder. Snape merely raised an eyebrow at the boy's cheek, but did nothing to correct him.

Snape's good humor evaporated immediately when the Golden Trio made their way into the kitchen. Harry glared at Snape as he and his two friends sat as far away as possible from him. Hermione looked put out by it as, Samantha was sure, she likely wanted to talk about the potion's progress. The girl's disappointment was so evident that Samantha decided to take pity on her.

"Granger," Samantha called down the table. She motioned with her pointer finger for the girl to come down to her side of the table. Both Harry and Ron looked positively betrayed when Hermione immediately moved to sit beside Samantha. While Snape wasn't pleased that Samantha had invited the girl to sit with them, he took satisfaction in the boys' outrage that she'd chosen them, or at least Samantha, over their company.

"Professor Rhodes, Professor Snape," the girl greeted both as she sat next to Samantha.

"I suspect you wish to inquire after the potion?" Snape asked, but he sounded none too inclined to acquiesce.

"Yes," Hermione answered weakly.

"Ignore him," Samantha said, despite Snape's look of dismay at her advice to the girl. "We have already conducted our first experiment as the potion was ready far earlier than I had anticipated."

"What happened?" Hermione asked, sounding as if she were about to burst at the seams.

"A partial success, if you could call it that," Samantha answered as the man himself settled across the table from her and, much to Snape's chagrin, on his other side. "Ah, Remus, I was just informing Miss Granger as to the results of our experiment."

"Indeed," he said excitedly. "A monumental success!" He proclaimed.

"Sort of," Samantha amended his statement. "He transformed, but it was only for a few hours. He returned to human form long before dawn."

"We have, however, devised a new foundation from which to develop another potion," Snape added. Both Lupin and Samantha were surprised at his voluntary involvement in the conversation, but for different reasons.

"Who's _we_?" Samantha asked, though a smile did play about her lips. "It was my idea based, oddly enough, upon my attempts to explain my religious beliefs to Severus."

"If I hadn't been persistent in inquiring after your whereabouts, you never would have come to that conclusion," Snape countered unsuccessfully.

Lupin had been privy to their interactions before, but Hermione had not, even during her detention, ever seen such, dare she say it, playful attitude from her dour professor. Regardless of her fascination with this new behavior, Hermione was eager to find out how any religious beliefs could possibly result in an idea for a cure for lycanthropy.

"How–," she started, but was interrupted by Molly's announcement that dinner was ready and the barely controlled chaos that ensued.

After everyone had filled their plates and conversation resumed, Samantha began to explain her thought process to both Lupin and Hermione.

"Well, to start, I am Catholic.”

Lupin didn't seem to have any clue as to what that meant or what it had to do with the potion, but Hermione seemed to know where she was going.

"Does this have anything to do with transubstantiation?" She asked, startling all three of her teachers. "My mother is Catholic," she went on to explain. "My father is not much of anything, but never objected to my being baptized and raised Catholic. I kind of fell away when I started school, but I still go to Mass whenever I'm home."

"Indeed?" Samantha inquired. It was something that had bothered her since she began teaching at the school. The idea of religion and magic mixing unsettled both sides, but she also knew it was impossible that not a single Muggleborn had been brought up in some kind of faith tradition. She knew it would have been extremely difficult to accompany students to whatever services they had to attend as a part of their beliefs, but the fact of the matter is that children and teenagers often were not inclined to attend said services of their own volition. Not even being given the option from the off would certainly not have led them to seek out permission on their own. "Well, do go on. Let us see if you are able to develop that idea."

Hermione looked trepidatious, mostly due to Snape's obvious lack of faith in her ability to do so, but excited all the same that she was being given the opportunity to work through the problem.

"Well," she started, a look of deep concentration on her face. "Transubstantiation results in the changing of the substance of the bread and wine into the body and blood, but their _form_ is still bread and wine. Werewolves obviously change their form, but it could be possible that their substance changes as well. If we can prevent the substance from changing, it is likely that their form would not change either." Hermione paused for a moment, though didn't notice the subtle look of approval on Snape's face. He was rather glad she didn't, she would have been positively insufferable if she knew he had been pleased with anything she said or did. "But how do we know if their substance changes? Has anyone ever looked into that?"

"You are correct on all counts," Samantha said. Hermione positively beamed at the praise. "No, no one has looked into it. I am still trying to devise a way to do so. It is difficult to try and translate the Catholic belief of transubstantiation into a test on a living being. The priest consecrates bread and wine, after all."

"How does a priest do it?" Snape asked, as if this were a simple question. Both Samantha and Hermione looked at him as if he were mad.

"I haven't a clue," Samantha answered honestly. "It is taken to be an article of faith, even if we don't understand how it occurs. I simply know that once the proper words are spoken by the priest, the bread and wine are thenceforth consecrated."

"Then why do you believe it?" Snape asked, utterly confused as to why she would believe something without concrete, empirical evidence. Samantha shrugged.

"Because I must."

"But why?" He asked again.

"Severus," said Samantha, a warning obvious in her tone. "I don't know that I could explain it to you. As I told you before, it would take me weeks, months even, to properly explain it all to you. There are people who spend their entire careers studying these things."

"What if you talked to one of these priests?" Lupin interjected suddenly. Samantha looked as though that would be a futile endeavor, but Snape, though loathe to admit it, agreed with Lupin's suggestion.

"Perhaps it _would_ be wise to discuss this with Father Matthews," he said. Hermione, more so than Lupin, looked quite surprised that Snape would have any personal contact with a priest. "From the way you have explained it so far, it seems to me that no one else has the ability to perform this…magic."

"That is correct, but it's not as if we all don't know _how_ the consecration is effected, even if we can't explain the mechanics behind it. As we believe it, it works because he was ordained a priest and, through that, was given the ability to do it. He says the words, performs the actions and it simply happens."

"I agree with Professor Rhodes," Hermione added. "I know you aren't going to like what I'm about to say, professor, but, for once, I _do_ know more about something than you do."

Snape wanted nothing more than to berate the girl for her cheek, but knew for a fact that she was right. He settled for a disgruntled harrumph as he crossed his arms, though he was already devising a way to give her detention come next term. Hermione, at least, had the good sense to not look triumphant at her victory.

"But isn't it worth it?" Lupin asked. "I mean, isn't it worth looking at this from every possible angle?"

Samantha was saddened by the desperate edge to his voice.

"I suppose there must be intent behind it," Samantha reasoned and hope once again came over Lupin's features. "That is something that has never been fully explained to me. The priest has to have intent behind the words and actions. It is possible that Father Matthews could conceivably shed some light on what goes on mentally as he speaks the words of consecration. But I'm still not sure where that would lead us. These remain to be two very different processes, even if the idea behind them is the same. I understand this to be an intellectual framework for experimentation rather than a practical application of the Church's method.  I might be better off talking to a geneticist."

"But maybe it's still worth a try," Hermione said softly, likewise distressed by Lupin's reaction.

All four sat in thought for a few moments before they noticed that conversation amongst the rest of the table's occupants had died down long before they fell into contemplative silence. It was clear that everyone else in the room had quickly discerned the serious nature of the conversation from the intense discussion amongst the motley group and had stopped to listen to what was being said. None but Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore had ever met Samantha, and so the others were quite surprised by the way in which Snape interacted with her. He usually spoke no more than was absolutely necessary at Order meetings and yet he had just held a lengthy and, surprisingly, polite discussion with the two banes of his existence: Remus Lupin and Hermione Granger. Dumbledore took the group's silence as his chance to convene the meeting.

"Well, I suppose this is as good a time as any to introduce Professor Samantha Rhodes. She is our Muggle Studies teacher, but her real passion lay in Potions, as I am sure you have all just deduced. At the moment, she is working on a potion to cure lycanthropy and had some success in her most recent experiment, conducted with Severus and Remus. This evening, we will be, should all of you permit it, inducting her into the Order."

Some of the Order members nodded in her direction in greeting before Dumbledore continued.

"All those in favor, say aye." Everyone around the table responded in the affirmative, the Weasley twins sounding quite a bit more enthusiastic about it than most. "And those not in favor?" Much to Samantha's relief, not a sound was made. "Well, that's it then. Samantha, would you please stand and take out your wand?"

Samantha did as she was told. "Now," he continued, "Repeat after me: I solemnly swear to dedicate myself to the cause of the Light, maintain the secrecy of the Order of the Phoenix, and, if necessary, give my life to uphold these vows." Samantha repeated the headmaster's words and, as she did so, the tip of her wand began glow light blue. "You must now touch your wand to the wand of all those who are gathered here this evening, mine coming last."

Samantha nodded and began to move around the table. Each wand began to glow in the same color as hers as she moved from person to person, almost as if she were lighting a candle for each of them. Lastly, she came to Dumbledore. As she touched her wand to his, the color morphed from light blue to a brilliant gold before extinguishing. At this, Samantha let out a deep breath she could swear she'd been holding since the induction ceremony began.

"Unless there are any other pressing matters," Dumbledore moved his eyes over the people seated at the large table, none of whom expressed a desire to speak. "Then we may spend the rest of the evening becoming acquainted with our newest Order member."

Her compatriots warmly greeted and conversed with her for the next hour before Dumbledore pulled both she and Snape to the sitting room.

"Samantha, may I ask what level you believe your defensive skills to be?" Dumbledore asked as soon as they had seated themselves. She looked nervously from one man to the other.

"I must admit that they are likely not as honed as they should be in times such as these. It was never such an important skill to learn in America and living in the Muggle world as I have been doing for the past few years, I never took the time to work on it. I know the spells, but I am sure my ability to duel is nowhere near what it should be."

Samantha nearly winced when she saw a look of exasperation, and perhaps a hint of disappointment, cross Snape's face.

"As much as I expected," Dumbledore said. "Severus, I should like to ask you to work with Samantha on this. I am sure the Room of Requirement will be amenable to your needs. It has been used for similar reasons in the past."

"Very well," Snape answered emotionlessly.

Dumbledore nodded and informed them that he would be returning to Hogwarts. Snape likewise moved to stand, but Samantha stopped him.

"Severus," she said softly. "I apologize for adding one more task to your plate. I am actually disappointed with myself for having so long neglected this particular skill set. As you know, wand work is rarely needed in brewing, so I'm afraid I am not as adept as I should be."

"I am not pleased that you have thus left yourself open to attack. You are in much more danger due to your neglect, Samantha," said Snape, though he sounded less like he was rebuking her and rather more like he was genuinely concerned for her safety. "It is a weakness you cannot afford when you have been branded a person of particular interest by the Dark Lord."

"What are you not telling me?" Samantha asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"I was called last Sunday. Alone."

"Is that–," Samantha started.

"No, it is not normal," he said as he shook his head. "The entire reason for his wanting to speak with me was you. He is aware of your research and asked me to derail it. I told him that you have had no success so far and that I have been misleading you along the way."

"I am so sorry, Severus," said Samantha quietly. Snape looked as though he didn't understand why she was apologizing. "You have been brought into my research. It puts you in even greater danger."

"He likely would have expected me to be in some contact with you, given my position in the school," Snape assured her. "At the moment, he does not wish you dead. I would not be surprised if my next order was to try to turn you to his side. However, if he learns of any further progress you have made, he will not be so inclined."

"Severus, what are you asking me to do?"

"I am not requesting that you completely abandon the project," he started, knowing she would not like what he about to say. "I am asking that you try to remain in theory at the moment. Make as many notes as you want, research as much as you want, but don't try to brew any more potions until it is safer for you to do so."

"You know I can't do that," Samantha said, her temper beginning to flare.

Snape had been on the receiving end of her temper and knew it was not much better than his when she was sufficiently provoked. It took a lot for her to unleash it, but what he was asking her to do was precisely the kind of thing that would lead her to lash out.

"Please, Samantha," he said quietly, the entreaty clear in his voice. Her eyes softened at his pleading tone, but she still did not look prepared to accept his request. "I need you…"

Snape trailed off, knowing he should say more, but also recognizing that those three words could stand alone, much as he didn't want to admit it to himself, much less to her.

"No, not when I've just turned a corner," she said firmly. The pained look on Snape's face nearly made her give in, but she was not going to sacrifice her research to save her own neck. "Did you not hear the oath I just made? This is my contribution to the cause of the Light. I know it puts you in more danger –"

"I am always in danger, Samantha.  That is not why I am making this request. My life is not worth your success, but I can't watch you give _your_ life for it." Snape hated the desperate tone of his voice, but found himself unable to control it. He _was_ desperate to convince her.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"That you'll do this for me," he answered quickly. "Don't abandon it, but find something else to work on while the Dark Lord is so clearly interested in your progress. There are other contributions you make, other potions that can be developed; ones that are not as threatening."

"No," she whispered, apologetic but resolute all the same. She stood and moved to return to the kitchen but stopped before leaving the room. "Let me know when you would like to begin my training. You can keep me safe by teaching me how to protect myself. Good night, Severus."

Snape wanted nothing more than to stop her from leaving, to hold her in his arms and convince her that it wasn't worth her life. He knew, of course, that a cure for lycanthropy would be worth any life, but he was too selfish to admit it. And it scared him. It was not until he'd realized how much danger she was really in that the strength of his emotions had become clear to him. As she turned and left the room, he felt as though she were slipping through his fingers. He would do as Dumbledore instructed him and train her in defensive spells and combat. But he knew then that he would not, could not stop pleading with her to discontinue her work, even if it did mean that he would thus be fulfilling the wishes of the Dark Lord. It was selfish and the very embodiment of the emotionalism he criticized everyone else for, but he already knew what it felt like to be unable to prevent the death of a woman he loved. He wasn't about to let it happen again.


	14. The Stroke of Midnight

Snape was supremely relieved that the winter break was now upon them. Aside from the obvious fact that the castle was nearly empty and he didn't have to deal with hundreds of noisy, annoying children day in and day out, it also meant that he was not expected to appear at meals. He needed to put some distance between he and Samantha after how embarrassingly desperate he'd been the night of her induction. The feelings hadn't changed, but he didn't like how vulnerable it made him feel.

What bothered him most was that he _knew_ how important the research was. The Dark Lord had begun recruiting werewolves to prey on unsuspecting victims, magical and Muggle alike. A cure would effectively shut down this avenue of attack and save many lives; both in a very literal sense as well as preventing further infections. This he knew. So it wasn't as if he didn't think it worth taking the risk to pursue it. And yet, he would have anyone but her working to invent this cure. It wasn't because he knew it put him in danger should word spread that she was making progress, it was because it put _her_ in danger to continue. As he'd told her, there was not a waking – or sleeping, for that matter – moment in which he didn't need to fear for his life and, really, he would have anyone work on the potion even while knowing he would suffer should they succeed. Which is why he didn't want to use that tactic with her unless she forced him to. He didn't want to make her feel guilty to save his own skin. He just wanted her alive.

Snape was also relieved, though frustratingly put out, that Samantha seemed no more keen to seek him out. He knew, however, that he'd need to contact her sooner rather than later, if only to schedule her first training lesson. He didn't want to leave that any longer than absolutely necessary because she'd been right, if she wouldn't stop her research, the only way he could keep her safe was through training her to protect herself.

Gathering up his courage – he refused to attach the Gryffindor modifier in this case – he emerged from the dungeons in the late afternoon, three days after her induction and his highly unsuccessful attempt to tangentially fulfill the wishes of the Dark Lord. He recalled a time in his past when he would have had no trouble accomplishing any task set him. Of course, it would have included death threats and torture. He decided he'd leave that strategy well enough alone.

Upon knocking on her office door, Snape realized that he had never once been to her rooms and nor had she ever seen any more of his quarters than his office and lab. It was odd to think of how deeply he cared for her when, from all outward appearances, they were little more than colleagues.

"Come in," he heard her call.

'Odd,' he thought to himself. For some reason he'd thought her the type to answer the door herself rather than bidding someone to enter. He found his answer once he'd stepped into the office. She was surrounded by books, parchment, ink pots (both full and empty), and discarded quills. It looked as if she'd not moved from the spot since they'd returned to the castle on Sunday evening.

Samantha looked up to ascertain the identity of her guest. "Severus," she greeted him, sounding somewhat surprised that he was there in her office.

"Samantha," he said, nodding in her direction. She closed the book she'd been reading, using a new quill as a bookmark, and stood to climb out from the mountain of books surrounding her desk.

"To what do I owe the pleasure? I don't recall a time in which you've sought me out," said Samantha lightly, though Snape thought he might have detected a hint of accusation in her voice. In a very uncharacteristic move for him, Snape shifted uncomfortably as she sat herself in one of the chairs in front of her desk. She gestured toward a second so that he might sit as well. "Sit. I'm not one of your students."

"We need to discuss your training."

"I suppose we need to figure out where I am before we go any further."

He nodded.

"It will do no good for me to simply ask you, however. We'll need to meet in the Room of Requirement to do some light dueling. I won't use any overly harmful spells, but I _will_ push you."

He didn't want her thinking he'd go easy on her just because she was out of practice. They had enough problems to be getting on with, he didn't need to add to it.

"And when would you like to do this?"

"As soon as possible. I want you prepared to defend yourself within the next month." Snape hoped that she was not so far out of practice that that was an unattainable goal. Fortunately, she didn't look as though she thought so.

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Very well," he said upon standing. He eyed the titles of the various books littering her desk, knowing full well what she'd been so thoroughly researching for the past three days. It was an odd combination, to be sure: potions, magical creatures, shape shifting, Muggle biology textbooks, soul magic, and, finally, the odd theological text or two. If anyone else had looked at this range of books, he very much doubted that they'd be able to deduce their meaning. It was a thought that comforted him.

He looked up to find her watching him intently, likely waiting for him to lay into her again for her research.

"I never said I didn't want you reading about it," said Snape. "I asked that you refrain from lab work."

"Severus," she started, her tone clear that she was not prepared to do so. "If I happen upon what I think is a very workable theory, I am not going to leave it there," she said with finality. "Now, I'm finished discussing this. What time shall we meet?"

Snape bit back the response he would have given to anyone else in this situation.

"After lunch," he answered tightly, jaw twitching from the force of restraining himself.

For the first time that week, the following day found both Samantha and Snape in the Great Hall for lunch. None of their colleagues commented on their absence, though it had just occurred to Samantha what they might be thinking given how many meals both she and Snape had missed. She was saved from their comments, as well as conversation with Snape, by one of her fourth year students, Thomas Robbins, who had stayed behind for the holidays. The boy was affable enough, and certainly intelligent, the hat was right to put him in Ravenclaw, so there certainly could have been a worse fate for her. She mentally shuddered as she watched Trelawney settle herself in a chair at the end of the table.

"Professor Rhodes," the boy greeted her. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Not at all, Mr. Robbins," Samantha replied, watching as Snape took the seat on the other side of her student. The student tensed when he saw who he was sitting next to, but resolutely turned his attention back to Samantha, hoping to remain under Snape's radar. "How is your holiday going?"

"Alright, I suppose," Robbins answered, loading up his plate. "I don't much look forward to holidays anymore," he finished quietly. "Since my parents passed, I have to live with my gran. She doesn't like magic."

Samantha watched as Snape eyed the boy carefully. She saw a glint of empathy flash in his eyes that caught her by surprise. She thought back to their conversation with her priest. His father was a Muggle. Perhaps he had not taken kindly to Snape's talents?

"Well, at least you get to spend Christmas in the castle. You could certainly think of worse places, I'm sure," said Samantha, trying to brighten the child's – and Snape's – mood. He looked around at the decorations and nodded slowly.

"I'm sure I could," he agreed.

For the remainder of lunch, during which Samantha didn't eat much owing to her nerves and the desire to avoid dueling on a full stomach, she and her student chatted about the upcoming semester and what topics she was considering covering. Every once in a while, she flicked her eyes to Snape to gauge his mood. She didn't want to go into her first training session while he was caught up in one of his dour episodes.

Snape finished eating long before Samantha and swept out of the hall. She was sure he wanted to beat her to the Room of Requirement, if only to be afforded the opportunity to tell her that she was late. Samantha, on the other hand, returned to her rooms to change into clothing far more suitable for dueling. While she knew that it would be highly unlikely that she'd find herself in a spot of trouble while conveniently wearing trainers and track pants, she consoled herself by arguing that it _was_ only her first session and she knew that even if Snape didn't work her very hard – which she thought to be likewise highly unlikely – she would be pushed to her physical limits.

She reached the seventh floor to find the door already waiting for her. Upon entering the room, she looked around to see what it had decided they required. It wasn't much more than a large empty space, though the room had been considerate enough to provide a lightly padded floor. She was sure she'd need it. Samantha found Snape standing at the far end of the room, wand already drawn and still wearing his, what she imagined to be constricting, black coat. Of course, he was far more adept in this area and could probably duel far better than she with one hand tied behind his back.

Samantha had barely closed the door before Snape sprang into action. She knew he had intentionally missed when he sent his first stunner sailing past her; the red streak of light collided with the wall and ricocheted harmlessly to the floor. She immediately drew her wand and was only just fast enough to cast a protective shield before the next, which was aimed directly at her torso. He gave no hint of approval and almost lazily deflected her own stunner. His nearly lethargic movement had more power behind it than she imagined and she found herself caught off balance and unable to protect herself from the stunning spell he sent her way.

Snape revived Samantha almost immediately and allowed her to sit up on the floor to gather her wits.

"If I'd been Lucius Malfoy, you would be dead," said Snape flatly. He had forced himself to quash the flood of guilt that filled him the moment Samantha hit the floor, even though he had made sure to ask the room to provide a padding charm. Her lack of focus and speed were disquieting, to say the least. Fortunately, he had felt the power behind her stunner, even if she had been far too slow and obvious in casting it.  He had, at least, something to work with.

"Well, what luck for me that you are Severus Snape," Samantha replied, her voice laced with sarcasm. Snape extended a hand to pull her up, resolutely ignoring the urge to envelop her in his arms and snog her senseless. He had to keep his focus; otherwise he would embarrassingly end up stunned just as she had so easily been.

"We need to work on your speed and you need to be more precise and subtle in your wand movements. A mere flick should be enough to knock out your opponent without them being able to easily ascertain that you have even cast a spell, much less what it was."

They continued to duel for the next hour, though she showed little sign of improvement. She'd been singed, stung, sliced, and stunned before Snape slowed his pace. Samantha could not help but see that his mood noticeably worsened with each spell she was unable to block. Finally, after he'd stunned her for what must have been the fifth time, his temper snapped.

"You have no chance of survival!" He declared with a bellow that echoed around the room.

"Thank you for your vote of confidence, Severus," Samantha threw back at him.

"Did you even listen to what I said when we started? You need to focus. You're dueling like a first year." Snape's voice was harsh and filled with contempt. Samantha was irritated to find that she felt like one of his 'dunderhead' students.

"Severus," she started, but was cut off by his next cutting remark.

"In here, I am _professor_ ," he hissed. Her mingled gasp of shock, affront, and fury brought nothing but his characteristic sneer to his face. A sneer, she thought absently, that he had never used with her. A deep sense of disappointment joined her barely restrained anger.

"How _dare_ you!" Samantha fairly shrieked at him. "Dumbledore may have asked you to help me train, but he did _not_ appoint you my master and commander! We are equals and you _will_ treat me like it!"

Samantha barely caught the spell Snape sent her way, but she blocked it with a furious sweep of her arm that sent Snape soaring across the room. He only just missed flying directly into the opposite wall, but he fell with such a thud that she knew she must have hurt him, even with the padded floor. Her rage so consumed her, however, that she felt nothing but satisfaction at the thought. She moved quickly across the room to stand over him.

" _Never_ speak to me like that again," she ground out through clenched teeth, shaking with fury. The force of her anger nearly impaired her ability to speak.

He stared up at her from his prone position. She was never sure if she'd imagined it or not, but there seemed to be a nearly imperceptible shudder of alarm that swept through him. Samantha was so caught up in her swirling anger that she ignored it – and him – and stomped from the room. She slammed the door behind her, leaving him lying on the floor struggling to regain his senses. Truly, he pitied the man that provoked her to such lengths without the benefit of having forged some kind of amicable relationship with her beforehand.

Samantha's anger fueled the descent to her rooms. The moment she closed the door behind her, however, it left her and she felt as though she were deflating as she slid down the door. There were no tears, but she could not ignore the block of ice that seemed to have slipped down her throat, finally taking residence in her stomach. Samantha wasn't sure what had been slowly building between them over the five months they'd known each other, but her hopes of it developing into something more began to dissipate when she reflected upon the nearly disastrous results that emerged from the clash of their tempers. She couldn't see how they could possibly build any kind of relationship upon such unstable foundations. One fight had them both verbally and physically assaulting one another. To be sure, passion was a benefit in any relationship, but not when it could turn so violent so quickly. They would be forced into extremes; either there would be an uneasy détente maintained only through meaningless niceties or they would be at each other’s throats.  It was no way to live.

Both Snape and Samantha avoided each other like the plague for an entire week. It was only on the day before Christmas Eve that Samantha decided to risk his wrath to try to patch up the chasm that had opened between them. She was of the closet romantic sort and could not bear being estranged from the one man, one _person_ at that, she'd been close to in the whole of the castle on Christmas.

Rather than simply letting herself in, as she had done in the past, she knocked tentatively on his office door. When she received no answer, she nearly turned tail. She changed her mind as she turned to go and mentally steeled herself for the response she would likely receive for entering without his express consent.

Samantha stepped in his office to find it empty. Soon after she closed the door, however, she heard movement in the lab, the door to which was cracked open. Quietly opening the door, Samantha found Snape stooped over a cauldron, his back to her. Not wanting to startle him, she softly cleared her throat. He straightened up slowly, seeming almost reluctant to turn to face her.

"Severus," said Samantha uncertainly. He turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder.

"Samantha," he replied evenly. She nearly winced at his tone. His voice was not cold, it wasn’t anything, really.  He managed to convey a complete lack of expression. It was a talent, she was sure, that he had studiously cultivated over the years.

"I wanted to say that, well, that I'm," she stopped when he shook his head and finally turned to face her. He seemed to be moving in slow motion as he placed the ladle he'd been holding on the table. His hand and gaze lingered on it as he stood motionless in thought. He lifted all but one, long, tapered finger from the instrument before tapping it in an almost visible sign that he'd decided what to say.

"You don't need to apologize," he said at last.

"But I – I," she paused for a moment, trying to find the right word for what she'd done. "I _attacked_ you."

Once more, he shook his head.

"You protected yourself. I lost my temper and attacked _you_. It is something for which I will never forgive myself," said Snape, his voice sounding rough and broken. He stared at the floor, his hair obscuring all but his beak-like nose. The air around him seemed to sag with the weight of his remorse and Samantha wanted nothing more than to brush the hair out of his face and embrace him. It was true, though. He _had_ been the first to cast. She wasn't sure why she felt so forgiving about what he'd done. Perhaps it was because she knew that she had really hurt him in response and, though she felt wretched afterward, had felt nothing but pleasure at her victory. They were, in her mind, even.

"What are we doing, Severus?" Samantha asked bluntly. Snape looked back at her, completely silent. He understood perfectly well what she was asking, but had no answer for her. Her heavy sigh broke the silence. "May I ask something of you?"

"Anything," he answered immediately. It was obvious that he felt as though fulfilling her request would in some way assuage his guilt over what he'd done. His response was so swift that Samantha was sure it was the only way he knew to deal with his guilt.

"I will be attending Mass tomorrow evening. It is traditional for churches to celebrate a Mass at midnight on Christmas Eve. I would like for you to accompany me."

"You needn't have asked," said Snape. Samantha looked both confused and disappointed at his response. He continued, "I would not have let you leave the castle alone at such an hour." He left unsaid that it was due in great part to her poor defensive skills. She smiled at both his answer and his tact.

"You will have to wear Muggle clothing, of course," she warned him. "Preferably a suit, if possible. It is quite the formal occasion." Samantha felt a wave of excitement pass through her at the thought of seeing him in a suit. Though his normal attire was quite formal on its own, seeing a man in a good suit always thrilled her.

The pair spent the afternoon in the lab, cautiously avoiding the topic of her research while chatting aimlessly about his own. They left the lab together to attend dinner and, upon going their separate ways after, both felt immense relief mingled with nervous anticipation.

The following evening, Snape stationed himself in the Entrance Hall at precisely half-past ten to await Samantha's arrival. She had been quite adamant that they leave at least an hour before Mass was to begin due to the uncommonly large number of people who attended the midnight service. He wore a suit, as per her request, and had tied back his, for once, noticeably clean hair.

He did not have to wait long. Samantha appeared at the top of the staircase leading to the doors mere moments after he emerged from the dungeons. He didn't think he'd ever seen her look more beautiful. Her clothing was entirely suitable for church, but, all the same, it served to accentuate every attribute she had.  And he found it positively irresistible. Her long hair, normally straight, fell in soft curls around her face and shoulders and her makeup, though tasteful, was far more dramatic than usual. The deep green dress she wore had a high collar that highlighted the length of her creamy, white neck and its bodice accentuated her hourglass figure. It fell to her knees leaving her shapely calves, made all the more enticing by her black heels and stockings, visible to his approving gaze.

Samantha felt the heat rise to her face as he she watched Snape rake his eyes over her. She found herself likewise incapable of doing the same to him. His black, three-piece suit was perfectly tailored to his form. She was amused to see his dark green shirt was paired with a silver tie. Upon further inspection, Samantha also saw, to her delight, silver cufflinks ornamenting his shirt. She idly wondered where he might have picked up such fashion sense. Only one element of his appearance bothered her, however: his hair. There was only one thing for it. The moment she approached him, she lifted her arm to reach for the back of his neck, his eyes widening at the gesture, in order to pull his hair loose.

"That's much better," she said approvingly as his hair fell back around his face. It was somewhat longer than usual, but letting it down instantly improved his appearance (though Samantha wasn't sure how much more it could be improved if she wanted to pay any attention at all at Mass). Snape looked somewhat confused at her actions, but said nothing as he shrugged into his coat and wrapped his gray scarf around his neck. He helped Samantha into her own coat before they set off to the school gates.

As they walked, neither of them could resist sneaking glances at their traveling companion. Snape took note of the way in which Samantha's black leather gloves proved to highlight her slim hands and long fingers and how her purple scarf accented her porcelain white face, which seemed to glow in the moonlight. Her pale skin, he knew, was far more attractive than his own sallow complexion.

Had Samantha been aware of Snape's thoughts, she would have most vehemently objected to his negative opinion of his appearance. While she did acknowledge that his skin usually exhibited a rather pallid color, unless he was bent over a steaming cauldron, the moonlight seemed to hide any imperfection and his dark hair contrasted pleasingly, if sharply, with the pale white of his face.

Their mutual appraisal took them all the way to the school gates. Though she needn't have done so, Samantha placed her hand in the crook of his elbow as they apparated to the graveyard neighboring the church.

Once they had stepped onto the main sidewalk leading to the church, Snape knew why Samantha had been so insistent that they leave early. A line of people waited to enter, all bundled up against the cold. They joined the queue and Snape reveled in the feeling of Samantha's hand still tucked into the crook of his elbow. The thought that others might look at them and think them a normal couple just like anyone else warmed him through and through. He looked down at her to find her eyes already on him. She graced him with a small, but warm, smile and her eyes sparkled as they reflected the lights from the church.

They soon found themselves walking up the steps into the church. Snape could not rightly recall the last time he'd set foot in a church, and he honestly did not know if he'd ever been in a Catholic church, and so watched with interest as Samantha dipped her fingers into a small basin of water and moved her hand over herself in the shape of a cross.

"Holy water," she whispered when she saw his questioning look. Her explanation did not mean much to him, but he was reminded of a conversation he'd overheard in which a Muggleborn student made some remark about holy water and his reputation as a vampire.

Samantha stopped and gestured for Snape to precede her into an empty pew while she knelt and crossed herself again before taking her own seat. After removing her coat, Samantha pulled down the kneeler and slid forward to kneel.  As she prayed in silence, Snape took the opportunity to let his eyes wander. The mingled scent of incense, candle wax, and Samantha's perfume soothed him and he found himself relaxing even further when the organist began playing a hymn before the start of the service.

As midnight drew closer, the church slowly filled to capacity, warming the once chilly space. A bell was rung and the assembled congregation stood, opening their hymnals to the correct page. Snape was not one for singing and so settled for looking over Samantha's shoulder at the book she held in her hands. He spent the Mass following her lead. He confessed himself intrigued by the ritual nature of the service, the precise movement and wording as well as the hauntingly beautiful chanting, which he was surprised to find was all in Latin.

"The consecration is coming up," Samantha whispered into his ear as they moved to kneel. He felt her nudge him with her elbow even as she bowed her head when Father Matthews spoke the words of consecration. He watched closely, wondering how any connection could be made between the priest's actions and Samantha's research. He began to understand both Samantha's and Granger's dubious response to his and Lupin's suggestion that she speak to the priest on the matter. Still, the ceremony of it was interesting. Father Matthews was methodical in his movements and Snape willingly lost himself in the proceedings. He knew it was something he would never believe in himself, but he still felt as though the experience was worth having, if only for the insight it provided into Samantha's life.

They joined the throng leaving the church after Mass and waited in line to greet Father Matthews, who was standing in the cold, enthusiastically shaking hands and kissing cheeks. He greeted Snape and Samantha warmly, clearly pleased to see that she'd dragged him to Mass.

"So, what is your verdict?" Father Matthews asked Snape as he clasped his hand in his two cold ones.

"It was…interesting," Snape responded uncertainly. He wasn't entirely sure what word to use for it.

"It can take time to get used to," the priest responded, sounding nearly conspiratorial. Snape looked startled at his insinuation and Samantha stepped in.

"Now, now, Father," Samantha jokingly warned him. "Please leave Severus be. He was accommodating enough to come with me this evening; we don't need to scare him off."

"Of course, my child," Father Matthews said, kissing her on the forehead. "I wish you both a very Happy Christmas."

"And to you as well," said Samantha. She kissed him on both cheeks before turning to leave.

As the pair walked toward the graveyard, Samantha slipped her hand into Snape's.  Samantha felt positively dizzy when Snape laced his fingers through her own before they apparated back to the castle.

It was significantly colder at Hogwarts and Samantha pressed herself to Snape's side as they made their way back to the castle. Before they reached the stairs leading to the entrance, Snape stopped short. Samantha stopped shortly thereafter, as their hands were still joined, and turned to look back at him. The heat and intensity in his gaze brought a shiver over her that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold. Ever so slowly, he pulled her back to him until she was flush against his front. With his free hand, he grazed her cheek with his knuckles and then stretched out his hand to sink his fingers into her black curls. He was not looking in her eyes, but all around her, as if trying to drink in the very sight of her.

Samantha put one arm around his waist to draw them closer and pulled her hand from his to rest it on his chest. As she slid her hand from his chest up to his jaw, she felt his other arm come up to wrap around her. They stood motionless and entwined for what seemed like an eternity before Snape's hand came around to cup the back of Samantha's head. She tilted her head back and waited with nearly painful excitement for Snape to respond to her invitation. She did not have to wait long. Her eyelids fluttered closed as she felt his lips tentatively meet her own.

He seemed unsure as to where to go from there, so she took it upon herself to direct the kiss. She moved her lips over his and he responded eagerly. Samantha felt his fingertips begin to massage the back of her neck while his other arm tightened around her. She deepened the kiss and nearly moaned when she felt the heat of his mouth, which contrasted sharply with the bitter cold surrounding them. She did moan softly when she heard Snape whimper as his tongue came to meet her own. He was certainly not the most adept of kissers, it made Samantha wonder just how much experience he had in this area, but his reactions to her made her knees weak.

The grounds were silent and still as Samantha and Snape continued to kiss for how long neither knew. It was only when the wind gave a bone-chilling gust that they parted. Snape rested his forehead on Samantha's and his breaths came out in short, white puffs.

"Samantha," he said softly, seemingly content to merely hear her name spoken aloud.

"It's professor out here," she whispered with a wry grin. He chuckled quietly and she sighed in satisfaction at the sound. She tilted her head up to place a sound kiss on his lips before turning to take his hand again.

Samantha led him into the castle and they shared one last kiss in the Entrance Hall before quietly wishing each other a Happy Christmas and returning to their rooms. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Snape felt as though he'd actually meant it when he said it. He was standing in the castle he called home, holding the woman he loved in his arms, and he was, for the moment, able to simply exist in the moment without thoughts of Voldemort or the war weighing him down. A very Happy Christmas, indeed.


	15. Sleigh Bells and Wine

Samantha woke well after breakfast on Christmas. She had been positively giddy when she'd returned to her rooms and knew that sleep would not easily, if ever, find her. Wishing she had a pensieve, Samantha settled for playing her and Snape's parting moments over and over in her head. Guilty though it made her feel, she had not experienced that kind of nervous energy after her first kiss with Mark. She had loved him dearly, of course, but their relationship had always been more subdued. While there had been no chance of getting into the kind of altercation that she and Snape had experienced only days ago, the all-consuming and fiery desire she felt at the mere thought of her kiss with Snape was likewise impossible. She knew after the previous night's activities that she was all too willing to take on the risk to pursue a relationship with him, even while knowing that there existed the possibility of an explosive meltdown between them.

Snape likewise could not will himself to sleep. His inability to rest was due more to astonished disbelief at what had happened. He could count on one hand the number of women he had kissed in his thirty-six years – ironically, none of them had been the one woman who had been the object of his affection for the vast majority of those years – but he realized then that every other kiss he had ever experienced had only ever been perfunctory, whether on his part or his partner's. There had never been passion and certainly not love in it. No woman had ever responded eagerly to his attentions and nor had any woman he'd been with inspire any wish to ignore his own pleasure for the sake of her own. The previous night, however, his entire objective had been to show Samantha the depth of his feeling through placing all of his focus upon pleasing her. Of course, he was not quite so talented as she, but if her reaction had been anything to go by, he'd done well enough. Longing and excitement flooded him at the thought that he might be given the chance to hone his skills with her and, perhaps, take it much further than stolen kisses in the small hours. The Dark Lord be damned, he had never experienced this kind of reckless desire before and he was already going through withdrawal in its absence.

As both Snape and Samantha had been so caught up in their thoughts that they'd neglected to order breakfast to their rooms, both decided it would be prudent to make an appearance at lunch. While no one was obligated to attend, it had become the norm to do so and it pleased Dumbledore.

No one could have possibly missed the near angelic glow emanating from Samantha as she entered the Great Hall. That Snape had made his appearance only moments before her looking a bit like the cat that caught the canary, conclusions were swiftly reached by staff and student alike and knowing glances circulated amongst them.

Samantha took the empty seat next to Snape and only just resisted the urge to greet him with a peck on the cheek. Though it would not have been terribly scandalous, she knew it was not entirely appropriate for such gestures to be passed between professors in front of students. She settled for a whispered greeting that would not be overheard.

"Happy Christmas, love," she whispered into his ear. The term of endearment rolled off her tongue with ease. He visibly relaxed at her words and she suspected that he'd been nervous that she might have come to regret the previous night's events.

Snape turned to face Samantha and his heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. He had yet to really look at her until that moment, wishing to allow her the chance to ignore him if she wanted to forget their passionate late night embraces. Her smile was bordering on beatific and her green eyes looked upon him as if they had never beheld a more welcome sight. Snape was nothing short of stunned, speechless, and, he could not deny it, irredeemably besotted. It must have shown on his face, for her smile only grew the longer she gazed at him.

They were startled out of their quiet regard when they heard the loud pop of a Christmas cracker. As he did every year, Dumbledore immediately swapped his usual tasseled cap for the ridiculous hat produced by the toy. He almost wished for the days of Muggle crackers, which offered nothing but flimsy paper crowns.

Lunch passed by with no comment from the peanut gallery, though Dumbledore did try to cajole Snape into wearing the hat that came out of the cracker the headmaster had waggled in his face until he consented to holding the other end. It was, truthfully, an annual occurrence and Snape was sure that Dumbledore knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never convince his Potions Master to debase himself so.

Though Snape was done eating before Samantha – he often was – he seemed to be waiting for her to finish. He stood with her and, as they reached the large doors to the Great Hall, he placed a hand on the small of her back and leaned close to speak to her.

"Would you care to join me in my rooms this evening?" He asked quietly. Snape waited for her answer, feeling like his heart had lodged itself in his throat.

"Of course, Severus," said Samantha, a bright smile upon her face. She felt the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach and nearly asked if she had to wait until the evening, but they were interrupted by the approaching headmaster. Snape glanced irritably at him before turning back to Samantha.

"Tonight then," he said with a short nod of his head. Snape stopped to intercept Dumbledore while Samantha continued on her way back to her rooms. "Albus," Snape said tightly.

"I feel compelled to tell you that this morning I overheard the most interesting conversation between a couple of portraits who have a view of the Entrance Hall," Dumbledore started casually as he accompanied Snape out of the hall. Snape could just imagine how interesting that conversation could have been. The greasy git of the dungeons caught snogging the most beautiful woman in the castle. Dumbledore continued, "It seems two of my professors were behaving as though they'd been caught under a rather colossal sprig of mistletoe."

"Really?" Snape asked mildly, as if he hadn't the faintest idea who the portraits were talking about. Dumbledore looked at Snape over his half-moon spectacles and raised an eyebrow.

"That may work with everyone else, Severus, but you know me better than that," said Dumbledore. "I am happy for you, my boy, I really am. Just a note of warning: you should be more careful in future. I have no objections, of course, and there are no rules preventing the two of you from pursuing a relationship, but I sincerely doubt you'd want a student walking in on such a scene."

"Albus, it was nearly half three," Snape protested, dropping the pretense.

"And, of course, students _never_ break curfew, do they, Severus?"

"It was – it was unplanned," Snape replied, sounding as if he didn't want the words to come out of his mouth and feeling all the world like an errant schoolboy.

"I understand, I just thought it prudent to remind you that this castle has eyes and ears."

"Yes, headmaster," said Snape, hissing out the words rather petulantly.

Dumbledore regarded him silently for a moment. Though his occlumency skills were exemplary, Snape avoided Dumbledore's eyes and shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Dumbledore was one of the few people in the world, if not the only, who could inspire such a reaction in him.

"Very well," he said at least. "Have a pleasant evening," he added with a twinkle in his eye. Snape huffed and rolled his eyes, of course he would have overheard them.

Snape turned on his heel and returned to his rooms. He tried to pass the time reading, but knew he'd need something more to occupy him and so made his way to the lab. He stuck to a couple of simple potions – no need to test fate in his distracted state – and soon enough dinner rolled along.

Dinner passed much as lunch did, though the fare was decidedly heavier and far more extravagant. Neither Snape nor Samantha felt much like eating and stayed only as long as prudence required before bidding their tablemates a Happy Christmas. Well, Samantha bid them all a Happy Christmas, Snape merely nodded his head shortly and waited for her by the door.

Once they were out of sight of the living, dead, and artistically rendered, Snape slipped his hand into Samantha's and laced his fingers with hers. The mere touch of her hand was enough to make his stomach do back flips. His breathing was shallow in his nervousness and the anticipation was almost painful.

Snape's hand shook lightly as he reached out to open the door for Samantha. She relinquished her hold on his hand as she walked into the room and looked back to him, waiting for him to lead her into his private quarters. Snape walked across his office, once again taking her hand, and opened the door to his sitting room. He stepped inside and pulled her through as he flicked his wand to the fireplace, which obediently sprang to life.

Samantha, who had never been inside Snape's personal quarters, took in her surroundings. Snape dropped her hand to allow her to look around as he moved to the cupboard to pour them both a glass of elf-made wine.

His sitting room was rather dark, both quite literally as the fireplace was the only current source of light, and in his furnishings. The wood of his over-laden bookcases was a dark cherry and in front of the fire stood two wing-backed chairs and a small couch. While the chairs were an expected leather, the couch was covered in a very dark green velvet, its cushions overstuffed and looking quite inviting. She was actually surprised that he had so much seating, as she rather thought he didn't often need it.

She turned to find Snape standing next to her, holding a glass of wine in each hand. She took one gratefully, happy for both the alcohol to steady nerves and for the glass to occupy her hands. Samantha looked back at Snape shyly as she moved to sit on his couch. He rounded the sofa on the other side and came to join her. They sat directly beside one another and Snape boldly moved to drape his arm over her shoulders. He was glad for his daring, for the moment he did so, she snuggled into his side.

The two sipped their wine and sat in quiet contemplation of the fire for some time. It was, thankfully, not an awkward silence, though each was admittedly waiting for the other to make some kind of move. Samantha felt like a teenager again, nervously waiting for the dark man sitting next to her to just suck it up and kiss her already. She had run the show the first time round and wanted to make him take the initiative. She decided she'd do him one small favor and show her interest by placing her free hand on his thigh. Once there, however, and spurred on by the intake of breath from Snape, she squeezed lightly and began to rub her thumb in small circles as her pinky mirrored its movement on the inside of his leg. The wool of his trousers was rough against her fingertips and she felt the muscle underneath the cloth tense.

Samantha regarded Snape out of the corner of her eye and found him staring intently at her hand. He looked to be in deep thought, as if trying to decide how to react to her actions. He seemed to have made up his mind as he leaned forward to set his glass on the low table in front of the couch. He plucked the half-full glass out of her hand and placed it next to his. Snape shifted, sliding the leg nearest to her on the couch as he moved to face her. He placed a hand on her hip and pulled until she was encircled by his leg and turned completely toward him, while he raised his other leg to trap her own beneath it. As long as they were, she had plenty of room, but still felt pleasingly surrounded by his presence.

Snape's hand came to rest on her neck as he leaned forward to bury his face in her hair. His thumb brushed along her jaw and he gently tipped her head back so that he could press his lips to her throat. A small noise escaped from Samantha's parted lips at the contact and Snape, emboldened by the sound, kissed her neck more fervently as his hand moved down to her shoulder and back up again to cup the back her head, his thumb coming to rest just behind her ear.

Samantha was now grasping at his coat, wishing that there was far less clothing separating them, and waiting for him to lower his mouth to her own. The moment finally came and the contact was just as exquisite as it had been the first time, perhaps even more so. He kissed her deeply, this time not waiting for her to guide the way. Snape's movements were languid, but filled with purpose and Samantha was nearly dizzy with the onslaught of sensations coursing through her.

Seeming to share her own frustration at the layers of fabric that stood between them, his hands moved to the line of buttons on his coat. Samantha grasped the sides of his torso and drew him closer. She moved her hands up to where his own were rather unsuccessfully trying to push button after button through its hole. Pulling his hands away, she made quick work of it and slid her hands over his chest to push the material off his shoulders. As he moved his arms behind him to pull the coat off, she began to work on the waistcoat underneath. Soon after, her hands moved to untie the cravat at his throat. Samantha unwound the silky material and let it slide through her hand onto the table.

Finally content with her handiwork, she pulled back from the kiss and placed her hands on the sides of his face and simply looked at him. His cheeks were pink, his hair disheveled, and the guarded expression normally found in his eyes was replaced with an intensity that sent a wave of pleasure through her.

Samantha extracted her legs from his and threw one over him to straddle him. After reaching back to remove her shoes, she moved her knees along the cushions to sink further down into his lap. She watched intently as his eyes slid shut and his head tilted to rest on the back of the couch. Samantha pushed herself completely against him, her forearms coming to rest on the back of the couch on either side of his head. She sank her hands into his hair and rested her cheek against his own.

"Severus," Samantha whispered, her voice low and thick with want. He fairly purred in response. It was a deep, rumbling sound that reverberated throughout her body. Snape raised his head and regarded her through heavily lidded eyes. The fire reflected in their depths, making his fiery gaze quite a literal one. She kissed him once again, her hand moving along his cheek and back into his hair.

Snape allowed his hands to roam over her back. He finally slipped them under the soft cashmere sweater she was wearing and was overjoyed to hear the quick intake of breath that his movements elicited from her. Her skin was just as warm and soft as he'd imagined it to be – and he had imagined it quite often over the past couple of months – and he pulled her as close to him as was physically possible. After kicking off his own boots, he grasped her hips to lower her back onto the couch. As she lay back, her hair spilled out around her face and he found that he could not rip his eyes from the sight. He could scarcely believe that he was the reason for the desire that colored her cheeks and sparked in her eyes.

Slowly, he lowered himself to her, bracing himself on his forearms on either side of her head. Samantha's arms came to encircle his waist and she pulled his shirt out of his trousers. He moaned as he felt her hands move up and down his back under his shirt, her nails lightly grazing his skin. He dipped his head to capture her lips in a deep, searing kiss that left them both fairly breathless.

As she drew up her legs to wrap around his waist, he could do nothing but shut his eyes and take steadying breaths. It had been over a decade since he'd found himself in this position and he needed to maintain at least some control over his body. Truth be told, he'd only found himself in this position twice before and both had been little more than teenage fumblings. This was far more than that and the women he'd been with then could not hold a candle to the lithe creature currently writhing beneath him.

For her part, Samantha could not remember a single moment in her life when she had been so consumed by want. Her husband had certainly been able to please her, but it was nothing like this. She could feel the power and strength in Snape's body, making her wonder if, perhaps, being with a fellow magical being had any impact upon her reactions. Snape was also, of course, nearly twenty years younger than her husband had been, which must have counted for something. Mark had been vaguely in shape, but Snape was lean and fit and she could feel the tense muscles in his back under her wandering hands. His hair fell forward on her face as he kissed her and she realized that, although she had always preferred men with shorter hair, she quite liked the feeling.

Samantha lifted her hips and tightened her legs around him, which elicited gasps from both of them, and felt the physical evidence of his arousal. Snape squeezed his eyes shut as a pained look crossed his face. His breath came out in ragged puffs and he was obviously struggling to restrain himself from thrusting back. She took pity on him and his internal battle and loosened her hold on him. His eyes opened again and she looked up at him, a smile on her face. He was still breathing deeply, trying to regain his senses. Samantha placed a gentle hand on his cheek.

"Perhaps we should take a break," said Samantha softly. Both were reticent to move, but Snape acknowledged the wisdom of her words and moved back to kneel on the couch, pulling her up with him.

Snape moved to a normal seated position on the couch, picking up his wine glass as he did so. Samantha, on the other hand, sat facing him, her legs stretched out over his lap. She likewise retrieved her glass and held it up for a toast.

"To reluctant restraint," she said with a wry grin. His eyes sparkled in merriment as he clinked his glass against hers. She kissed him soundly and then pulled back to take a deep sip of her wine.

Feeling much more confident than he had at the start of the evening, Snape raised his arm to encourage Samantha to move closer to him. She did so eagerly and pressed herself against his side. He allowed his arm to come back around her, holding her close to him.

Once more they found themselves watching the fire as they slowly drank their wine. When they had drained their glasses, Snape summoned the bottle to refill them. As the hours ticked by, they continued to drink and talk softly.

Snape had just poured the last dregs of the bottle into his glass when Samantha felt herself nodding off, nearly spilling her wine in the process. She shook herself awake and yawned.

"I should really be getting back to my rooms," she said tiredly, her voice rough from the late hour and the lengthy conversation.

Samantha downed the rest of her wine and moved to extricate herself from Snape's arms. He, however, had different ideas, for he gently, but resolutely, tightened his hold on her.

"Stay," he implored her in little more than a hushed whisper. "Please."

"We both know that's a bad idea," said Samantha, regret coloring her quiet voice. He let his arms drop and he sank into the couch dejectedly. "Do not for one second think that I am rejecting you, Severus. I just don't want to rush things. Trust me, it has nothing to do with not wanting to be physically close to you, it's just that we have held back really getting to know each other." She grazed his cheek with her knuckles.

Snape sighed deeply. He knew she was right, but it didn't mean he had to like it.

"Severus," Samantha said, looking down at him as she stood before him, her back to the fire. She reached down to push his hair out of his face. Placing a finger under his chin, she tilted his head up to face her. She kissed him once more before continuing. "Be patient with me. I don’t have a clue what your romantic history is, but I lost my husband less than a year ago and I am still coming to terms with it. Some of the wounds were reopened when I was told the truth about his death. It still hurts."

"I am sorry, Samantha," he said quietly. He really didn't know what she must feel like, but even if it was only a fraction of what he'd felt when Lily was killed, he knew that she needed more time to grieve.

"It isn't your fault," said Samantha as she leaned down to rest her forehead against his. "I want this to work, make no mistake about that."

Samantha kissed him again, bracing herself on the couch with her knee next to Snape's leg and her hand on his shoulder. He reached out to grip her waist, trying to pull her back down to his lap. She broke the kiss and tutted at him.

"Now, now, Severus," she rebuked him with a smile. "Much as I am flattered by your eagerness, I remain firm in my decision to go back to my room."

She allowed him one last kiss before she straightened up, a little unsteady from the combined effects of the wine and Snape's attentions, and left him sitting on the couch in front of the dying fire.

Snape found himself, as he had that morning, replaying the evening over and over again in his mind. One moment stuck out in his mind above all others.

She was flattered that he wanted her. The woman would be the death of him yet.


	16. Love Interrupted

Samantha was sure she was not alone in the feeling when she realized with no small amount of astonishment that another year had just ruthlessly passed her by. She could not begin to wrap her head around how much her life had changed in naught but a short three hundred and sixty-five days. In less than one year, she had gone from living in a more than comfortable flat in the heart of Muggle London with her husband to taking up a post as a teacher in a wizarding school in the northern reaches of Scotland after his murder at the bidding of a maniacal evil overlord. Not to mention that she was sure she'd fallen in love with a man who was very much the antithesis of her late husband. Moody, dark, brooding, and downright insufferable; yes, Severus Snape was nothing short of Mark Collins' polar opposite.

Coming to the conclusion that her thoughts were far too distracting to accomplish anything constructive, Samantha decided to aimlessly wander the castle. She knew there was secret after secret to uncover and she had never bothered to visit any corridor that did not lie directly in her path to her destination. Given that both her rooms and her classroom were on the first floor and that most of her time outside of that space was spent in the dungeons, she hadn't often been given the run-around by the fickle staircases. On this particular afternoon, however, she stepped onto one particularly active staircase with that very intent. Samantha was sure the castle was sentient after finding that the staircases never deposited her in the same place twice. There was no way the students would ever get to classes on time if they usually behaved this way.

After spending the vast majority of the day chatting with portraits and ghosts, Samantha made her way back to her rooms to freshen up for the New Year's Eve party that evening. It was to be held in the Great Hall and both the staff and the students staying over for the holidays were invited to attend, though the students, much to their chagrin, were instructed to be back in their common rooms by 10:30.

Samantha had actually made a special trip to Hogsmeade the day before to buy new robes. It was her one indulgence for each new year. Whether wizarding or Muggle attire, she would go out and spend an exorbitant amount of money on a single outfit for the night's festivities. Though she had, for the past few years, had the whole of London's shopping districts at her disposal, she thought she'd still done rather well with her resources. The knee-length robes she'd come away with were of raw silk and deep purple, nearly aubergine, in color. The bodice fit her figure quite closely and was finished with a wide portrait collar and sleeves that came just to her elbows. One of her favorite features, largely because it made her waist look a few sizes smaller than it actually was, was the dramatic a-line cut of the skirt.

To that end, Samantha decided that the occasion warranted the footwear, hair, and makeup to complete the look. She wore what would likely turn out to be dangerously high black patent leather heels, feeling rather scandalous for doing so despite the fact that no one would know, her back-seamed thigh high stockings and a waist cincher with garters. Ever thankful for her magical talents, she was able to curl her hair and keep the elaborate style in place without single handedly depleting the ozone with an entire bottle of hairspray. She lined her lids liberally with dark black liner and finished it all off with deep red lipstick. Her attire was in no way revealing, but she had to admit that she hadn't felt sexier in years. She was hoping that one Severus Snape would derive enjoyment from the inordinate amount of time she'd spent on her appearance. Samantha could say without a trace of arrogance that she was rather certain he would.

On her trip to Hogsmeade, Samantha also took the opportunity to buy a present for Snape. She had, much to her embarrassment, not gotten him anything for Christmas and fully intended to make up for her terrible memory – even if he had not given her anything either. So, armed with his present, Samantha descended to the dungeons an hour before dinner and the ensuing party were due to start, anxiously awaiting his reaction to her appearance.

After letting herself into his office to find both it and the lab empty, Samantha knocked on the door to his private quarters. She had to wait only a few moments before Snape opened the door.

"Happy New Year, Severus," said Samantha. Snape said nothing and merely stood in the doorway, positively gawking at her. "Might I come in?" She spoke louder this time and her voice seemed to snap him out of whatever alternate universe he'd been in.

"What? Oh, yes, of course," he said, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words. Samantha actively fought to hide a triumphant smirk as she moved past him.

For his part, Snape had honestly lost all ability to think or speak the moment he'd opened the door. When he had met her in the Entrance Hall on Christmas Eve, he had found her beautiful and enchanting. He had to admit he was glad that she had toned her look down that night, as he knew he would be driven out of his mind with lust over the course of the evening. Upon further reflection, Snape didn't think that would be such a bad way to go.

Clearly well on his way, Snape stood immobile long after Samantha had entered the room, his hand remaining on the doorknob.

"Severus? You can close the door now."

Once more, Snape was drawn back to reality, though he did wonder how _real_ this reality was, and shut the door with a snap. She looked at him expectantly, a slightly nervous smile on her face. Her delectable ruby red lips were pursed as she stood, her hand resting lightly on the back of the sofa.

Wanting to speak, but incapable of finding the words, Snape settled upon crossing the room to Samantha and sliding his arms around her waist. He pulled her close to him and could not hide the smile from his face when she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hands coming to rest on the nape of his neck. Her heavily lined eyes looked, if possible, even greener than usual as she gazed up at him. Though Lily's eyes were likewise brilliantly green, he never saw in them the warmth and feeling he now saw in Samantha's. No, Lily would never have thought to look at him like that.

The rather maudlin turn of his thoughts must have shown, for Samantha's face took on a look of deep concern.

"What's wrong?" She asked softly as she placed her hand on his cheek. Snape merely shook his head in response.

"Nothing," he said at last in a low voice. Samantha smiled and lifted herself on tiptoe to bring her lips to his. Unlike the passionate, fevered kisses they had shared on Christmas, this was soft, tender, unhurried.

When they broke apart, Snape took in a ragged breath. An emotion he could not identify crashed over him and he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of it. Looking into Samantha's eyes, he was sure he saw the same feeling reflected in them.

"I have something for you," said Samantha softly. She pulled back from him to reach into a pocket. From it, she pulled a flat, black, square box. Untying the silver ribbon, he lifted the top to reveal a velvet box similar in shape to its wrappings, which Samantha took from him so that he could lift its lid. Snape was astonished to find within what was clearly a _very_ nice silver pocket watch. Its casing was engraved with an intricate filigree pattern and, after pressing the latch release to open it, found that its face was a clear glass that exposed the tiny cogs, which, upon further inspection, revealed themselves to bear the same filigree design engraved upon them. Snape had never been given anything so extravagant before.

"I know that it is tradition to give wizards a pocket watch when they come of age. I have never seen you with one, so I thought that perhaps you had lost or broken the one you were given–” She stopped then, looking as if she had more to say, but shook her head. 

Snape had been grateful for the gift in and of itself, but upon hearing her explanation, he found himself overwhelmed by it. She hadn’t brought herself to say it, but it was true; he had not been gifted with the traditional pocket watch on his seventeenth birthday. Had he been in any other house, it might have gone unnoticed, but the total lack of Muggleborns in Slytherin ensured that the traditions were upheld by house members and it was taken note of when anyone fell short. Snape was ridiculed for weeks over what an outsider would have thought was a trivial matter.

He removed the watch from the box and held it up in front of him, watching it spin on the chain, glinting as the light from the fire hit it. He looked down from the watch when he felt Samantha begin to unbutton his coat.

"Let’s see how it looks," she said as she took the watch from him. He let the chain fall into her outstretched hand. Samantha placed it into one of the pockets in his waistcoat and, after unbuttoning two its buttons, attached the chain. She held out his arms and stepped back from him. The polished silver chain gleamed against his black clothing and she smiled at a job well done.

"Thank you, Samantha," Snape said, for once utterly sincerely in his gratitude. He pulled her back into his arms and held her tightly, trying to convey his thanks to her where his words failed.

"You are more than welcome, Severus," Samantha whispered into his shoulder. The emotion in his voice and embrace brought tears to her eyes and she was very glad that she'd thought to charm her makeup to not smear. She pulled back once more to survey her work. "Well, there's no way I'm going to allow you to wear a coat that covers that up, you know."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I haven't anything else."

"Perhaps if you'd allow me," said Samantha as she extracted her wand from a hidden pocket. He nodded, even while not having a clue what she intended to do. Samantha was not much with a wand in most areas, but her love for clothes had led her to make a point of mastering transfiguration spells. She quickly and efficiently shortened the sides of Snape's coat so that it could not be buttoned up, but still did not look as though he were simply wearing a coat that did not fit him properly. Samantha found that she preferred this cut of his coat; though he remained covered from head to toe, it still felt as though there was one less layer shielding him from the world. It was a start, at least.

She smiled tenderly as she watched Snape pull the watch from his pocket to continue his inspection. He seemed incapable of taking his eyes off of it. There a look of almost childlike wonder that came across his face as he turned it over in his hands, popping the top open and shutting again, only to repeat the action soon afterward. He looked years younger and his eyes sparkled in a way she thought they might never have done. For once, she knew she had picked the perfect gift for he certainly saw it as more than a simple watch. This was an object that seemed to heal a wound he'd long suppressed. Samantha had to stifle a laugh when she thought about how many times he was sure to check the time over the evening.

Snape finally replaced the watch in his pocket, fastidiously checking that the chain fell perfectly onto his waistcoat at just the right length. He looked up to see Samantha's eyes glittering in amusement. He couldn't help but give her a rather sheepish smile in response. Taking her hand, he led her around the sofa to sit next to him in front of the fire. He couldn't contain the sigh of contentment when she grabbed his arm to drape it over her own shoulders. Snape leaned over to kiss her temple before settling back into the couch.

After they had sat in silence for some time, Samantha turned to him, fighting a smirk. "Tell me, Severus, what time is it?"

Snape used his free hand to extract his watch and found that dinner was due to start in five minutes.

"Much as I'd like to stay here, Albus strongly suggested that all staff attend dinner," said Snape after showing her the time.

"No offense, but I didn't spend all that time on this," she said, gesturing to her clothing and hair, "to sit down here with you all night."

With that, Samantha stood to smooth down her dress and extended a hand to Snape, who took it as he raised himself from the couch.

"Very well," he said with a long-suffering sigh.

After resetting the wards to his rooms, he offered his arm to Samantha. When they reached the Great Hall, Snape held open the door of the staff entrance for her and, after following her in, she was surprised when he once more offered his arm. As she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, she couldn't help the feeling of pride that filled her, knowing that the gesture was announcing to those assembled in the hall that they were a couple. She knew that few would envy her for it, but she couldn't help but think that they should.

Sure enough, even those who were seated facing the main entrance swiveled their heads around when they saw the look of astonishment on their tablemates' faces. Silence reigned as the pair crossed the hall to the table situated in the middle of the room. Snape pulled a chair out for Samantha, who rather regally seated herself, as Snape took the remaining chair between she and Dumbledore.

The night sky in the enchanted ceiling was dotted with twinkling stars and naught but one cloud obscured the view. Samantha spent a few moments gazing up at it before turning her attention back to the still silent table. Dumbledore, thankfully, took that as his cue to signal the start of dinner. With a clap of his hands, a veritable feast appeared on the table and the students, in particular, began to hungrily load their plates with everything in reach.

"A gift?" Dumbledore leaned over to ask quietly once conversation had resumed, subtly gesturing to the gleaming silver chain on his waistcoat.

"Yes," Snape answered, equally as quiet. Dumbledore seemed to know how much this particular gift meant to Snape, if only from the look on Snape's face when his attention was once more drawn to it.

"You are indeed a lucky man."

"I know." Snape's answer surprised even Dumbledore, who was not used to hearing the adoration that was blatantly clear in Snape's voice.

Snape and Samantha spent the vast majority of the meal speaking quietly with each other, completely ignoring everyone else at the table. Dumbledore noted that Samantha often placed her hand on Snape's arm as they talked and he equally noted that Snape seemed to quite enjoy the contact. With an amused smile, Dumbledore realized that Snape was preening.

Samantha, too, noticed the obvious aura of pride that surrounded the man. Snape had always been a proud man, of course, but he never expressed it in a way that made a spectacle of himself. It was unabashed masculine pride and he looked as though he wanted every other male in the room, regardless of age, station, or species, to envy his accomplishment.

As dinner wound down, bottles of various liquors and wine appeared for those of age, while the younger students were furnished with more butterbeer than they could possibly consume.

Though Snape always kept his consumption of alcohol to a minimum, for he never knew when he might be called, Samantha indulged freely in what was a seemingly endless supply of whiskey. As the night progressed, tongues were loosened and conversation flowed as freely as the booze.

The students were, thankfully, sent off to their houses before their teachers truly began to let loose. Once they were gone, even the quite sober Snape found no need to maintain physical distance from Samantha. The staff, after all, was not about to report his actions to the Dark Lord.

The headmaster signaled for everyone to follow him out onto the terrace as midnight closed in on them. He had, thankfully, thought to charm the very air to warm them as they stood in the otherwise bone chilling cold of the Scottish winter night.

Just as Samantha had predicted, Snape, with one armed wrapped securely around her waist, counted down the minutes on his new watch. Samantha likewise kept her eye on the watch and rested her head against his cheek. Slowly the minutes and seconds ticked by, until they were all loudly counting down the last ten seconds of the year. It was the first time in his memory that Snape could recall participating in the tradition.

The moment midnight struck, fireworks, which Snape was certain Dumbledore had procured from the Weasely twins, began to color the sky. Snape turned to face Samantha and, as he moved his hand from her neck to entwine his fingers in her hair, he lowered his lips to her own and kissed her with all the passion he'd been keeping in check over the course of the evening.

As the fireworks display ended, the staff turned to face each other for a rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne, led unsurprisingly by Minerva McGonagall. Snape and Samantha, however, were still busy kissing each other senseless and were completely unaware that they had become the next display of the evening. They clung desperately to one another and neither seemed at all inclined to detach themselves at any point in the near future.

Dumbledore, in an effort to draw attention away from the oblivious couple, set off more fireworks on the grounds. The loud bangs startled Samantha and she broke off the kiss to see that most of the staff were still looking at them in astonished amusement.

The two remained entwined as they watched the impressive display of firepower. Snape honestly thought his heart would burst if the emotion coursing through him did not soon abate. And abate it did the moment his thrice cursed dark mark sprang to life. The hiss of pain that was expelled through clenched teeth was heard by none but Samantha and Dumbledore. Samantha, knowing precisely what had happened, kissed him tenderly and rested her forehead against his.

"Be safe, my love," she said, feeling tears well in her eyes.

"Please don't cry," Snape responded softly as he placed his hands on her cheeks. "I will come back to you." He kissed her lips once more before nodding sharply to Dumbledore and striding purposefully back inside.

Samantha watched mournfully as he went and wrapped her arms tightly around herself. Dumbledore came to place an arm around her shoulders and guided her back to the group of teachers still jovially celebrating the new year, blissfully unaware of the danger Snape was about to put himself in.

To be honest, Snape knew that he would be called that evening. He confessed himself surprised that he had been spared his summons until after midnight. It was the Dark Lord's custom to gather his Death Eaters about him to "celebrate" the coming of a new year. Snape also knew exactly what was to be said. He had no doubt that there would be some kind of grand speech about the advent of a new era of pureblood supremacy and promises of the subjugation and subsequent decimation of the Muggleborn population before branching out onto the continent and, soon, the world.

Snape quickly left the castle and pressed his finger to his mark to be brought to the Dark Lord's side at Malfoy Manor. If the screaming of unidentified victims and the cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange was anything to go by, celebrations were already well underway.

He was told by the house elf who answered the door that he was to leave his mask and cloak in the drawing room. Though he hated wearing it, he also didn't like mingling so openly with the sycophants and murderers he had once called his friends and comrades.

As he entered the grand dining hall, Snape caught sight of Lucius Malfoy. Malfoy hardly resembled the man he had been prior to Voldemort's relocation to the manor. His platinum hair was limp, his face bore a grayish pallor, and his eyes, once gleaming with pride, were empty. His wife and son stood near him, looking no better.

Snape approached the pitiful looking family, very aware that the chain of his pocket watch was in clear view of many of those who had verbally tortured him for not having been gifted with one while in school. It was uncommon to buy one's own, as they were usually passed along in families or bought as gifts. He saw Malfoy's eyes drift down to the polished chain, which swayed as he crossed the room, and watched as the man raised an eyebrow at the sight.

When Snape approached, he nodded to Draco and Narcissa and turned his attention to Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch extended one slender finger to lift the chain hanging from Snape's waistcoat.

"A gift from the Muggle lover?" He asked tauntingly. For one terrifying moment, Snape was sure he was referring to Samantha. His fear was assuaged, however, as Malfoy continued. "He always was a sentimental old fool." The sneer was pronounced, but it was not nearly so elegant as it had once been.

Snape was saved from formulating a response as the Dark Lord stepped onto a raised dais to address his _faithful_ servants.

"My friends, we find ourselves here once more, welcoming a new year. A new year that is sure to bring along with it a new era in which those who are deserving of power hold it and the filthy Mudbloods and blood traitors will die for their futile attempts at revolt." Snape only just avoided rolling his eyes. "We will cull the herd and purify the blood, sweep away the chaff to leave only those who can rightfully be called witches and wizards."

He was momentarily interrupted by cheers and applause from the half-drunken revelers. Voldemort bestowed upon them a smile that he was sure to think was benevolent.

"Yes, I know you are all very keen to see the coming of this new world order. We have accomplished much over the last year. In the coming year, however, our plans will come to fruition," he stated, sounding quite sure of himself. "The cause of the Light will crumble and by the end of the school year, that old fool and disgrace of a headmaster will be dead."

The assembled crowd cast curious looks at each other. The Dark Lord had never been so precise in his pronouncements of death and destruction. He always spoke of a vague future, and many wondered how he was so sure that this seemingly most insurmountable of deeds would be accomplished in such a definite time frame.

While it was anxious excitement that filled most of the room, Snape felt nothing but dread and foreboding. He froze when he saw Voldemort cast a brief, knowing look to Draco, whose already pale face completely drained of blood and took on a greenish hue. Could Voldemort have possibly entrusted a mere child of sixteen with such a task? From the reactions of the collective Malfoys, he was sure that he had done just that.

Snape knew then that he would have to find some way to intervene. Pretentious bastard though the youngest Malfoy often was, he could not let the boy irrevocably damage his soul by committing murder. With dread gripping his heart, Snape concluded that there was likely only one way to save Draco from having to complete his task. The boy would surely die if Dumbledore was not dispatched with. It would not do to simply send Dumbledore into hiding, as Voldemort would need absolute proof that the deed had been done. The only solution, then, was to find another who was capable of murder and in a position that would allow him to do it. Snape could feel his lungs constrict as he came to the conclusion that Dumbledore's murder would have to be by his own hand.


	17. Falling Out

Samantha's second training session was scheduled for the weekend prior to the start of term. The students had already returned to Hogwarts, but were keen to spend their time lazing about the castle before they had to return to the grind of the school year.

Dressed once more in track pants and trainers, Samantha made her way to the Room of Requirement twenty minutes before their scheduled meeting time. She wanted to avoid the ambush Snape had sprung on her when she'd allowed him to arrive first to their previous session. As she stepped off the staircase when she reached the seventh floor, she immediately spotted Draco Malfoy carefully closing the door to the very room she was headed for. He looked wretched, as if he had neither slept nor eaten in days. The unconcealed paranoia on his face and in his body language put Samantha on edge.

Malfoy started when he turned to see Samantha approaching him, but soon replaced his surprise with a pompous sneer and upturned chin. Samantha fought the urge to roll her eyes at the boy's posturing.

"Mr. Malfoy," she began, "What purpose could you possibly have to be skulking around that room?" Surprise flashed in his eyes upon hearing that she was aware of the Room of Requirement, but he quickly covered it.

"That is none of your business, _professor_ ," he said, somehow turning her proper title into an insult.

"Wrong answer. Ten points from Slytherin." She could see the rage bubbling beneath the surface, but rather than fight her on it, he turned to stomp away toward the staircase. "I don't believe I was finished with you."

Samantha could hear him muttering under his breath as he turned on his heel, but heard enough to send her temper soaring. The words "father" and "mudblood" stood out most clearly. She closed the gap between them and roughly shoved him against the wall so swiftly that Malfoy scarcely registered what happened until Samantha's angry face was mere inches from his. He fought to maintain his composure, but alarm was beginning to take over.

"My blood is just as _pure_ as yours, boy," she snarled at him, enraged by his bigotry. "But even the most ignorant of wizards knows that purity doesn't matter one damn bit. You have just earned a detention with me. If you so much as think that word again in my presence, you will wish that is all you'll be punished with."

Samantha released him with a shove that sent him stumbling down the hallway. She knew that he would be writing to his father the moment he returned to his common room, and likely whine to Snape about his detention, but she had no intention of canceling the detention should it come to it.

She stomped into the Room of Requirement and slammed the door behind her. Immediately, she began to stretch and warm up for impending training session. Her anger was still burning hotly when the door opened to admit Snape. Wanting to vent and give him a taste of his own medicine, she cast a powerful stunner, aimed squarely on his chest, the moment he closed the door. It was clear that he expected her to do so and was able to block it easily. They immediately began to duel and Samantha was pleased to find that she could block or evade the vast majority of the spells he sent her way. Her daily solo training sessions seemed to have been paying off.

Her anger, however, was still getting the better of her and she was casting hexes far more swiftly and powerfully than she otherwise would have been. So much so, that Snape was having difficulty protecting himself.

"Stop!" He finally shouted when she'd penetrated his shields for the third time. While he was satisfied that she was making progress, he could tell that her dueling was fueled by anger rather than concentration. "What in the bloody hell is wrong?"

"Malfoy," Samantha responded testily. Snape's anger abated immediately and he crossed the room to her.

"What did he do?"

"Being his normal charming self," she said, sarcasm saturating her tone. "I caught him coming out of here and when I questioned him and took points away when he wouldn't answer me, he walked away and called me a mudblood. So I gave the little shit a detention."

"That was unwise," said Snape.

"On whose part?" Samantha asked, a warning clear in her voice.

"Yours." Once more, Samantha's temper snapped.

"Severus, he insulted a teacher. Do not try to tell me that any other teacher in this castle would have suffered such treatment without punishment!"

"Lucius Malfoy is a dangerous man and every other teacher in the castle is _not_ in your position, you –," Samantha's scoff interrupted him, but he continued on. "You _cannot_ draw any more unwanted attention."

"I cannot believe you are chastising me for this!"

"I am _trying_ to protect you!" Snape hissed urgently.

"I don't need your protection!" She shrieked at him.

" _Obviously_ you do or your husband would not be dead!" He bellowed. Samantha gasped in shock.

"How could you say that?" She responded quietly, bringing a hand to her mouth. She felt tears prick her eyes and shut them to prevent the deluge.

Snape knew he had set their relationship back about ten steps with his thoughtless comment, but he needed her to understand that he was trying to act in her best interest. He would rather have her angry with him than dead. Snape could feel the knife twisting in his heart as he watched her fight back tears. He took a step toward her, but she backed away at his approach.

"I need to go," Samantha said, putting her hands up defensively in front of her as she continued to back away.

As soon as Samantha closed the door behind her, Snape slid down the wall to the floor. Resting his elbows on his knees, he let his head fall into his hands. His chest constricted painfully and guilt hung heavily around his neck. He could not bear the thought that he might have pushed another woman away with careless, angry words.

In the days following their falling out, Samantha avoided Snape at all costs. She was forced into his company during meals and in the lab as she brewed Lupin's potion. Even there, however, she refused to speak to him and, instead, spent her meals conversing with Lupin and lab time completely silent.

Lupin immediately noticed the change in their relationship. Though he had not been present to witness their indiscretion on New Year's Eve, he had, of course, heard the staff gossip and was aware that they were in a relationship. Or at least had been. He was sure the coldness between them was Snape's doing, but also knew that speaking to the man about it was absolutely out of the question. So he did the best he could to bring Samantha out of her misery.

At the end of the first week of term, Lupin found Samantha stalking around the library, clearly stewing in anger and sadness as she pulled books from the shelves with jerky movements. He wordlessly took her books from her and gently grasped her elbow to lead her to a secluded corner.

"Alright, what happened?" He asked once they had sat down. He had refrained from asking any questions over the entire week. Samantha huffed as she idly flipped through the pages of one of her books.

"He's an _idiot_ ," she said at last. "I gave the Malfoy brat a detention for calling me a mudblood and he had the gall to berate me for it!"

"Severus is just trying to protect –," Lupin started, but stopped immediately when he saw the look in Samantha's eyes. Obviously, Snape had already tried that tactic. "What did he say? Specifically."

"When I told him I didn't need his protection, he said I obviously did otherwise my husband would not be dead," Samantha told him, feeling tears well up in her eyes as she recalled Snape's words.

"Oh," he responded dumbly. Lupin knew Snape had a habit of letting his temper get the best of him; he had, after all, been witness to he and Lily's falling out. He hadn't, however, expected the much older and wiser Severus Snape to say such hurtful words to a woman for whom he clearly cared deeply.

"I just don't know what to do with him," Samantha said quietly, laying her hands flat on the table. "I am almost convinced that I am in love with him, but I just can't deal with his moods. Not to mention that we can hardly go a day without an argument. I know all couples fight, but not like we do. It is nearly unbearable."

"How long have you two been, well, together?"

"Since Christmas Eve," she said as she ran a hand through her hair. Samantha sighed sadly at the memory of that night. She truly was at an absolute loss at what to do. No man had made her feel like Snape did. The problem was that no man had also ever made her as angry as Snape so easily could.

Lupin watched Samantha quietly, the internal battle she was waging showed clearly on her face. Snape was a notoriously difficult man and Lupin was sure that, as the war escalated, things between them would only get worse before they got better.

"Do you think it would be better to just end it now? Is it worth it when you know you both can so easily press each other’s buttons?"

The look of pure anguish on Samantha's face as she listened to his advice was heart-wrenching.

"I don't know," she whispered, the tears spilling out of her eyes and splashing onto her outstretched hands. "I – he – we are so dysfunctional, but I can't just walk away. I know I can't. But I don't want to feel like this anymore. When we are together, nothing else matters, but he is so good at saying just the right thing to set me off. And I do the same thing to him."

Lupin moved his chair closer to Samantha's and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She allowed her head to rest on his shoulder as tears continued to stream down her face.

"This war is wreaking havoc on people's lives. Everyone is feeling emotions more intensely than they otherwise would because of it. Just like last time, relationships spring up quickly in an effort to deal with it all," Lupin said quietly. "You have been through a lot over the past year. Are you sure that the intensity of your feelings for him aren't caused by all of the stress?"

"I don't know," Samantha said again, her voice muffled by his shoulder. "I would say it's all happened so quickly, but it really hasn't. We've known each other for nearly six months. I married my husband in less time than that. It's just the way I am. I don't think I can't blame it all on the war."

Lupin nodded in response. Truly, he suspected as much. Snape had always been intense and it was clear from Samantha's dedication to her research that she was much the same. It was an unfortunately explosive combination that could be exhilarating or debilitating.

The pair jumped when they heard the loud thump of a book being dropped onto a table. Lupin got up to investigate and, seeing no one, returned to the table to resume his conversation with Samantha. They spent the remainder of the afternoon chatting quietly and attempting to work through Samantha's dilemma.

Snape, meanwhile, was stewing in his rooms. After spotting Samantha cuddling so contentedly with the wolf in the library, he’d quickly abandoned the book he'd been holding and swept down to the dungeons. He paced furiously in front of the fire, the image burned into his mind. Hadn't it been only a scant two weeks since they were engulfed in passionate embraces on that very couch? Could he possibly have been stupid enough to send yet another woman into the arms of a Marauder?

With an angry growl, Snape kicked the leg of a chair. Twenty years later and those bloody Gryffindors were still ruining his life. If it wasn't Potter's spawn, it was his wife's memory. And now the werewolf was pawing his…his…whatever she was!

Come to think of it, what exactly was Samantha to him? He didn't have a label for her place in his life. Girlfriend sounded too juvenile, but lover was no more suitable. Of course, after he had so royally bollocksed things up, he wasn't so sure she had any label other than colleague.

Snape threw himself down on the couch and stared moodily at the fire. He expelled an irritated huff as he crossed his arms over his chest. Snape wasted no less than an hour simply sitting on the couch and grumbling to himself at the injustice of it all. Yes, he'd been an idiot, but did she really have to fall so quickly into Lupin's arms? Much as he was loathe to admit it, he knew Lupin was not the type to take advantage of her emotional state.  But he simply could not erase the memory of his arm around her shoulder and the way her face was buried in his shoulder, hidden away as they were in a deserted corner of the library.

Finally deciding he'd wasted enough time making himself miserable, because he clearly wasn't miserable enough already, he stood from the couch to make his way to the lab.  Upon entering, however, he found that Samantha had already taken up residence in front of her cauldron. The moment he set eyes on her, he felt his jealousy flare up once more.

"So, I see that you and Lupin have gotten rather…close," said Snape as he shut the door with a snap. Samantha looked up at him, her eyes still red, and confusion plain on her face.

"What on earth are you talking about, Severus?" Samantha asked, realizing that it was the most she'd said to him all week.

"I saw you."

"Saw me _where_?"

"In the library earlier," said Snape accusingly. "You two looked like quite the pair of lovebirds."

Comprehension flashed in Samantha's eyes and Snape gave a triumphant sneer.

"Ah, now you remember. Didn't take long for you to move on, did it?"

"Move on?" Samantha asked in a small voice. "Severus, it's not what you think."

"Is it not? Then I beg you to enlighten me as to the reason you were cozying up in a secluded corner in the library."

"You're an idiot," Samantha stated baldly. Before Snape could respond, she continued. "Do you honestly think if we were trying to get some private time, we would be in the library and not in one of our _private_ rooms? Besides that, you must not have watched us for very long because if you had, you would have noticed that I was crying, you insufferable man."

"Why?" Snape asked, his jealousy and anger beginning to fade.

"I was trying to figure out _this_ ," said Samantha, waving her hand between them. "Whatever the hell this is."

"And why would that make you cry?"

"Because I'm in love with you, you idiot!" Samantha shouted suddenly, not quite believing what had come out of her own mouth. Snape's mouth dropped open in response, but he couldn't find the words to respond. Samantha sighed and sat heavily on a stool. "I love you, Severus. But I can't deal with our fighting and I don’t know how to stop it."

Snape felt something inside of him break.

"What are you saying, Samantha?" Snape asked in a near whisper. He caught her eyes and held them with an intensity that rendered Samantha incapable of looking away.

"Can we really make this work?" Asked Samantha, sounding unconvinced of the possibility.

Snape had no idea what to say. He'd never been in a romantic relationship before. How did _any_ of them work?

Seeing that Snape had no response for her, Samantha nodded and stood.

"I thought as much," she said as she began to clear her workspace. Once finished, she moved to stand before him. "I meant it when I said I love you. But I don't think it's enough."

Samantha kissed Snape on the cheek and walked past him to the door.

"Wait," Snape croaked out urgently, though his voice refused to work properly and he could barely hear the work leave his own lips. The only response he received, however, was the click of the door as it shut behind her.

"I love you," he whispered brokenly to the empty room. The answering silence seemed to mock him and he lowered himself to a stool as he felt the weight of it all crashing down on his shoulders. Snape stared blankly at the worktable, his eyes tracing the familiar burns and dings in its well-used surface.

He simply was not cut out for this; to love or be loved. Snape concluded that she was probably better off this way. He could continue to love her from afar (he was certainly used to that) as well as protect her through abstaining from romantic entanglements with her and pushing forward in her defensive training. He would be miserable, but she would be safe, and that mattered far more than his burned and bruised heart.


	18. The Half-Blood Prince

The days seemed to melt into one another.  As winter drew to a close, the snow that had steadily been accumulating on the grounds over the frigid winter months melted with them. Samantha's training continued over the course of the semester. Much to her and Snape's relief, she was improving with each session. Her reflexes had sharpened and she could tell that her endurance was miles ahead of what it had been at the start of her lessons. But she also knew that while Snape _was_ challenging her, he had never dueled her the way he would in a real fight. It worried her that he could still get past her defenses when he was holding back. Granted, he was much stronger and more skilled than most wizards, but the thought did not do much to dampen her anxiety.

Their strained relationship also did not do much to soothe her nerves. There was no open hostility, but nor was there any of his previous warmth and openness that he had seemed to become comfortable with revealing around her. It felt has if he was holding back from her. Once more, he had become completely unreadable and inaccessible. Samantha longed to reclaim their intimate relationship, but she knew that going down that path, though it would mean being close to him again, would inevitably result in more fighting. Even knowing that, however, did not stop the dreams and thoughts of him that would enter unbidden into her mind at all times of the day and night.

It was these thoughts that accompanied Samantha as she made her way out of the castle on one chilly Sunday morning. Though spring was nearly upon them, frost remained upon the grass and Samantha pulled her coat more closely around her as the cold began to send shivers up and down her spine.

After securing the gate behind her, Samantha apparated to her customary point in the graveyard neighboring her parish church. As she walked along the sidewalk to the church, a feeling of unease came over her. She slowed her steps and looked cautiously around her. Seeing no one paying any attention to her, she tried to shake off the feeling and continued on. Snape's paranoia seemed to be rubbing off on her. Still, she kept her hand near her wand. No use borrowing trouble when it could otherwise be avoided.

As hard as she tried to concentrate during Mass, Samantha found it impossible to quash the feeling of dread that had settled in her stomach. She was sure someone was paying very close attention to her, but when she took the opportunity to survey the church during the Sign of Peace, she saw only familiar faces who did little more than smile and nod to her.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Father Matthews asked quietly when he greeted Samantha after Mass. Clearly her anxiety was showing on her face. Samantha furrowed her brow.

"Yeah," she responded somewhat absently, sounding none too sure of it herself. Her eyes continued to move up and down the street and still, nothing appeared to be off. "I'm just – things are just difficult at the moment. Severus and I are kind of estranged after a short-lived relationship."

"I am very sad to hear that," he said, clearly upset by her words. "I hope you haven't given up on him. I think both of you are in great need of each other."

"Much as I would love to tell you that we are working on it, it just seems hopeless at the present. We have both said very hurtful things to each other and I know it is unlikely that it wouldn't continue to happen were we to get back together," Samantha explained sadly.

"I can only tell you that it is my opinion that you are both capable of working through your differences. I know how stubborn you can be, but I also know how intelligent and how compassionate you are. You are strong enough for this."

Samantha wanted to cry at his words. She could feel a physical pain in her chest at hearing how sure her priest was of her and Snape's chances at reconciliation. She only wished she could have such confidence.

"I can't promise you anything, Father," said Samantha with a shuddering sigh. Father Matthews placed a hand on her cheek and kissed her forehead and she closed her eyes at the comforting gesture.

"I understand, my child. Though I can see in your face how badly you want to believe me."

She raised her watery green eyes to his and gave him a guilty smile.

"Well, I should be getting on. I am sure other parishioners wish to speak with you," Samantha said, kissing him on the cheek. "I’ll see you next week."

Father Matthews squeezed her hand before releasing it.

Only moments after she stepped away from the crowd still milling about the steps leading up to the church, Samantha could again sense that someone was following her. This time, as she turned she caught sight of an older man with a thin, pale face and wild dark hair. Though he was dressed in Muggle clothing, Samantha knew immediately that he was a wizard and that he was not a wizard she wanted to associate with. She began to walk as quickly as she could without drawing attention and curled her hand around the wand that was still stashed in her coat.

As she turned the corner into the graveyard, she could hear the man's heavy footsteps behind her and could tell that he was quickly gaining on her. Quickening her own pace, she withdrew her wand and prepared to turn toward him. Just as she did so, a streak of red light shot past her and demolished a centuries old headstone. Samantha whipped around to send her own stunning spell, which the man easily blocked.

Knowing from his swift reaction that she would have no chance in a duel with him, she decided to disapparate back to Hogwarts. As she turned on the spot, she saw a jet of purple light hurtling straight for her. She disappeared only a moment too soon as his spell blasted yet another ancient headstone to pieces.

Breathing heavily, Samantha ran frantically for the gates, knowing that if the man knew where she went to Mass, he certainly knew where she lived.

Once the gates were secured, Samantha's anxiety lessened slightly, but nowhere near enough to slow her run to the castle's entrance. She was still shaking from the encounter and was surprised that her legs continued to work as her feet pounded relentlessly on the wet grass.

Without thinking, Samantha made straight for Snape's office the moment she was safely inside the castle. While she was no longer running, she was still moving quickly enough to attract the attention of the few students making their way in or out of the Great Hall. Her wild hair and anxious expression probably did nothing to help her maintain any sense of subtlety.

Samantha didn't bother knocking on Snape's door once reaching the dungeons and, instead, let herself in, shutting the door loudly behind her. She leaned against the cool wood and closed her eyes, trying to get her breathing under control. She raised her hands to see that they were still shaking uncontrollably and she felt nearly sick when thinking back on how close she had come to what could have been her own death.

Obviously having heard his office door slam shut, Snape immediately appeared in the doorway of his private rooms. He felt his heart jump to his throat when he saw Samantha leaning against the door, her face white and sweat beading on her forehead. He could clearly see that her attempts to control her breathing were failing miserably and she only succeeded in making herself hyperventilate. As she began to slide down the door to the floor, Snape crossed the room in two strides to catch her. Easily lifting her into his arms, he carried her to his quarters and laid her gently on the couch.

Samantha remained unconscious as Snape felt her forehead and cheeks. Her skin was cold and clammy and her face was deathly pale. He swiftly crossed his office to his lab to retrieve a calming draught.

"Severus?" Samantha called weakly from her prone position on the couch. Snape heard her from the lab and hurried back to his quarters.

"What is it, Samantha? What happened?" He asked, his voice low and urgent. Silently handing her the potion, he crouched on the floor in front of her.

Samantha pushed herself up to a sitting position and downed the potion. Its effects were immediate and the color began to return to her cheeks as she felt her heart rate return to normal. She gave a great sigh before explaining the morning's events to Snape. She couldn't tell if he was worried, stunned or angry.

"You should not have left the castle on your own," Snape said forcefully when Samantha had finished her account.

"Severus, I've been leaving the castle _every_ Sunday morning for the past seven months on my own. Something felt different today, though. I don't think he had been following me before today."

"I need to know who it was," said Snape, unable to discern the man's identity from her description. He extracted his wand and looked to her for her permission to enter her mind. She nodded her assent. "Legilimens."

He found the memory easily enough and watched as she spoke with Father Matthews. He winced at her response to the priest's advice, but knew her conversation was not what he should be focusing on. Snape followed Samantha as she walked along the sidewalk. He tensed when he turned with her to see none other than Antonin Dolohov looking directly at Samantha. Moving into the graveyard with Samantha, he almost moved to protect her when he saw Dolohov cast his stunning spell. Snape saw the undisguised terror on Samantha's face as she watched the spell sail past her and destroy the headstone. He could feel his own gut churn when Dolohov cast his next spell, one of his particular favorites, which only just miss her as she disapparated.

Snape pulled back from her mind to be met with her stricken face. He felt a pang of guilt at having made her so vividly relive the terrifying experience.

"That was Antonin Dolohov," Snape informed her. He continued in a grave voice, "Samantha, you are lucky to be alive. That curse would have made it impossible for you to disapparate."

Tears sprang to her eyes, even though she had already been well aware that she'd definitely experienced a brush with death that morning.

"I cannot allow you to go to church anymore. Even with an escort, it is too dangerous for you and the Muggles around you. You would be putting your priest in danger if you were to continue to go."

"What if I go to different churches every Sunday?" Samantha asked. "I hardly think they will have staked out every Catholic church in Britain."

Snape shook his head. "No. It is too dangerous."

"Severus, there is no way they could possibly track me if I did that," she protested. She knew very well it was dangerous, but attending Mass was one of the few things left in her life that kept her sane.

Snape stood to tower over her and she defiantly rose as well, though she remained unsteady on her feet.

"How is it that they found out you went to this particular church?" Snape asked, his anger rising. "If you are sure that no one had been following you before, what makes you think they cannot track you down again?"

"Well, they must have figured it out somehow. I've been going to the same church for five years! I doubt much digging would needed to have been done to figure that out," answered Samantha, her voice getting louder with every word. "What if I have an escort and go to different churches?"

" _No_ ," Snape said with finality. "For all your supposed intelligence, you are being awfully stupid right now."

" _Supposed_ intelligence? Who is it that's a hair breadth's away from curing lycanthropy?" Samantha countered. She almost never gloated about her accomplishments, but she had never been able to tolerate anyone insulting her intelligence. Even if they were right.

"And who is it stupidly refusing to put the research on hold to save her own neck!" Snape yelled back at her. Samantha practically growled in exasperation.

"I have been very clear on that matter, Severus. It is my contribution to the war effort," she said hotly as she stomped into his office. "You constantly put _your_ life on the line going to – to _him_ , but I'm not allowed to risk the same?"

"That's different!"

"How?" She shrieked.

" _You_ must be kept safe," he said with great feeling.

"And why me and not you?"

"Because I can't lose you!" He yelled, angry with himself for losing control and with her for forcing him to reveal his feelings.

"And you think I could cope any better with your death?" Samantha asked, unable to understand why he couldn't see how much his demise would affect her. "Every time you're called, I have to sit and wait, praying that you'll come back. You forget that I would mourn your death just as you would mine."

Snape was stunned, though he know he shouldn't have been. After all, she had told him more than once that she loved him. However, he still found it difficult to believe that someone truly would miss him when he was gone.

Unable to think of the words to respond, he crossed the room to her and drew her tightly to his chest. He was more relieved than he could say when he felt no resistance from her. He pulled back just enough to look at her face. She had started crying again and he wiped the tears away with his thumb.

"I – I apologize," Snape said with effort. "I'm…new at this."

Samantha sighed and placed a hand on his cheek. Raising herself on her toes, she brought her lips to his. The relief that filled her at the touch sent her reeling.

Snape likewise felt himself melting into the kiss. Passion mingled with relief rushed through him, sending his pulse soaring.

The moment they began to relax into each other's embrace, however, Snape's office door flew open to admit Hermione Granger. Hair flying and eyes wild, she opened her mouth to speak, but floundered when she saw her entangled professors. She sputtered, trying to get the words out.

"What is it, Granger!" Snape shouted at her, swiftly pulling away from Samantha.

"It's Harry, sir! And Draco Malfoy, he's hurt. They were fighting," she pushed out between breaths. "In the bathroom. There's blood."

"Show me," he said immediately, wasting no time in shooing the girl out of the room.

Hermione babbled the whole way up before Snape snapped and told her to shut up. She squeaked an apology just as they approached the bathroom. He could see water flooding out into the hallway and pushed open the door to find Draco on the ground, covered in blood. Potter was kneeling beside him, staring incredulously down at Malfoy's motionless body.

"Potter," Snape growled, snapping the boy out of his shock. He seemed incapable of saying anything. Snape shoved him roughly out of the way as he knelt beside Malfoy to perform the countercurse. His robes were soaked through with blood and water as he continued to mop up the blood on Malfoy's chest and face, still muttering the countercurse.

Finally, when the wounds had healed enough to move him, Snape practically lifted Malfoy to his feet, the boy moaning as he did so.

"We need to get to the hospital wing immediately," Snape said to Malfoy. "Potter, you will go to your common room, collect all of your school books, and you will bring them to my office," he told the boy. "Now!" Snape yelled when he remained rooted to the spot.

Harry jumped and scurried out of the bathroom, leaving Snape to bring Draco to the infirmary.

Samantha was pacing furiously in Snape's office when Harry showed up, his bag slung over his shoulder. The boy was soaking wet, white as a ghost, and, most disconcerting of all, covered in blood.

"Potter! What happened?" Samantha asked frantically.

"I –," he started, but was interrupted when Snape came storming into the room.

"Where did you learn that spell, Potter?" He asked, grabbing Harry by the shoulders and shaking him. "Who taught it to you?"

"No one," he answered shakily. "I – I got it out of a library book."

"Liar!" Snape breathed furiously. "Give me your bag."

Harry did as he was told and Snape shook the bag out over his desk. Books toppled onto its surface, but Snape was interested in only one. He plucked a rather new edition of _Advanced Potion-Making_ off of the pile and examined it closely.

"Is this your book?" He asked, holding it in front of Harry's face.

"Yes," the boy responded defensively.

"Don't lie to me," Snape hissed back at him. "Why does it have the name 'Roonil Wazlib' written inside the front cover?"

"That's my nickname," Harry said immediately.

Samantha covered her incredulous snort with a cough, but Snape was too intent on Potter to even notice that she was still in the room.

"Your nickname," Snape drawled.

"Yeah," said Harry, sounding more confident. "That's what my friends call me."

"I understand what a nickname is," he snapped.

Samantha watched as Harry studiously avoided Snape's eyes. It was all in vain, however, for she could see the terror cross the boy's face when Snape dove into his mind.

"You are a liar and a cheat, Potter. And you have detention with me every Saturday for the rest of term. Yes, that includes this Saturday. Quidditch or no quidditch." Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Snape cut him off with a sharp, "Enough!"

Snape practically threw the boy's books at him before slamming the door in his face. He turned back toward the room and gave a great sigh as he scrubbed his hands over his face.

"Severus," Samantha started quietly. Snape jumped, obviously having forgotten that she was there. "What happened?"

"Potter cast a rather nasty curse on Draco Malfoy," said Snape, walking back toward his private quarters. Samantha followed and watched as Snape poured a healthy dose of firewhiskey into a tumbler. He threw it back in one, hissed as it burned its way down his throat, and proceeded to pour another.

They moved in tandem to sit side by side on the couch and Samantha waited for Snape to continue. Snape, however, remained silent and merely sipped his drink as he stared into the fire.

"What curse was it?" Samantha prompted him. Snape looked as though he did not want to answer her.

"Sectumsempra," he said at last. Samantha shook her head in confusion.

"I've never heard of –"

"That's because I invented it," Snape interrupted her. "In my sixth year."

"You invented a spell when you were sixteen?" Samantha asked incredulously.

"Yes," said Snape simply, though he didn't sound very proud of the accomplishment. "I wrote it, along with a myriad of other ideas, in my Potions textbook."

"Is that why you asked Potter to show you his books?"

"It is. I know he has it, there is no other way he could have come across that spell. And certainly no one he knows would know it." Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "I knew I should have destroyed that damn book."

"Where did he get it from?" Samantha asked, wondering why Snape would ever have let that book fall out of his possession.

"Hell if I know. It certainly wasn't in my classroom and it isn't the one he uses in class. Otherwise, he would have top marks," Snape said matter of factly and without a trace of conceit. "Of course, I would have figured it out long before this happened if that were the case. He must have recently found it."

"How would he have not known it was yours? Didn't you write your name in it?"

Snape shifted uncomfortably on the couch and took a large gulp from his glass.

"In a manner of speaking," he answered cryptically.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It was a nickname, of sorts," Snape continued, sounding none too pleased about explaining himself. The corner of Samantha's mouth quirked, but she was able to restrain herself from smiling.

"You have a nickname?"

"I have a number of nicknames. If you had ever met Sirius Black you would know them all," said Snape bitterly. "This particular one was self-styled."

"And what was it?" Samantha pressed. Snape mumbled something, but Samantha didn't understand a word of it. "What was that?"

"Half-blood Prince," he said irritably, over-enunciating every word. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic. Care to shed some light on its etymology?"

"No, I don't." Snape drained his glass and summoned the bottle and a second glass. "Now, are you going to make me drink alone?"

"Of course not," said Samantha, holding her hand out for the tumbler. He poured a large measure of the amber liquid in both and handed one to her. "To the half-blood Prince," she said with a smirk, raising her glass. A pained look crossed Snape's face and he closed his eyes in exasperation.

"I am going to live to regret this, aren't I?"

"Severus, I can honestly say that I sincerely hope you do," Samantha said, sounding serious once more. She moved closer to him and curled her legs up under her, allowing her knees to rest against his thigh.

Snape watched her closely, slowly registering her words. Truthfully, he rather hoped he would, too.


	19. Darkness Falls

After Dolohov's attack on Samantha, Snape knew it could only be a matter of days until his next call. He was not disappointed as he felt his mark spring to life only four days later. He was sure Voldemort had timed it specifically, given that he had only just returned to his rooms after dinner.

With a barely controlled sense of dread, Snape apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor. The first to greet him was one of Lucius' ridiculous peacocks. Snape rolled his eyes at the strutting bird. Subtlety had never been one of the Malfoy family's virtues.

Upon entering what had been the manor's parlor, which now served as Voldemort's throne room of sorts, Snape scanned his eyes over the dimly lit room. He was hardly surprised to see Antonin Dolohov and the ever-present Bellatrix Lestrange. The Malfoys were, of course, a given, but the attendant that struck him as most unpleasantly unexpected was Fenrir Greyback. He wasn't a particularly high-ranking Death Eater and useful though he was, he remained to be, in the eyes of the Dark Lord and the vast majority of his followers, a "half-breed." The unpredictable werewolf was not often, if ever if Snape could recall, present at such intimate gatherings. And he was certainly glad for it. Though it had been Lupin who had sparked in him his fantastic fear of werewolves, Greyback did not have the compassionate personality when in his human form to soften his wolfish nature. The man's presence given recent events revolving around Samantha did not lead Snape to very reassuring conclusions as to the meaning of the impending meeting.

"My Lord," said Snape with a reverence that sickened him. He lowered himself to bended knee before Voldemort.

"Severus," he hissed back. "Be seated," Voldemort continued, gesturing to the seat directly to his right. The mingled look of contempt and jealousy that crossed Lucius Malfoy's face could not be missed. "You disapprove, Lucius?"

"Of course not, my Lord," Lucius said immediately, sounding appropriately submissive. Snape noted that the once proud man looked, if possible, even worse than he had on New Year's Eve. Then again, if Snape's supposition regarding Draco's task had any merit, he imagined that neither Lucius nor Narcissa slept or ate regularly. Their ragged appearance certainly suggested it.

Voldemort appeared to think over his response, clearly doubting the Malfoy patriarch's sincerity, before casting his eyes about the gathered group.

"I have been made aware of certain activities from over the weekend concerning my Death Eaters. These are actions with which I am not pleased," said Voldemort, conspicuously eyeing Dolohov.

"My Lord–" Dolohov began, his tone suggesting that he was prepared to defend himself.

"You dare question the Dark Lord!" Bellatrix shouted at Dolohov.

"Now, now Bella," said Voldemort lightly. He paused for a moment before continuing in a deadly quiet voice. "I specifically told you – _all_ of you," Snape felt his stomach drop when Voldemort turned to Greyback, "that she was not to be touched. Did I not make it clear that Severus has this under control?"

Much to Snape's dismay, Voldemort sensed his unease at learning of Greyback's involvement.

"Surely she informed you of what transpired," Voldemort said tauntingly. Snape turned to him, his obsidian eyes wholly unreadable.

"She did, my Lord," Snape responded. "She was even foolish enough to allow me to search her mind. I myself saw only Dolohov in her memories."

Voldemort seemed pleased that Samantha was trusting enough of Snape to let him enter her mind.

"Greyback for once staying to the rear? Well, this is news indeed," said Voldemort, turning to the man in question. "Nothing to say for yourself?"

Clearly the pair had not fully informed Voldemort of all that had happened. Snape, for one, was keen to hear their excuses.

"Dolohov was supposed to stun her first," Greyback explained in his gruff voice. "I had some," he paused, searching for the right word, " _friends_ who wanted to greet her. We wanted to let her know what we thought of her work."

"And you, Dolohov? Why involve yourself?" Voldemort asked, though it was clear he was not yet finished with Greyback.

"We had an – ah – understanding," said Dolohov evasively.

"A financial understanding?" Dolohov inclined his head in the affirmative. "And you allowed money to lead you to disobey your master?"

"My Lord," Dolohov said again, a subtle panic entering his voice. "She is working to defeat you!"

" _What_ did I say? Severus has been given the task of handling the woman." Snape could swear he detected a smirk on Voldemort's face at his own choice of words. "Have you noticed a drop in the werewolf population?" Dolohov said nothing. "Well, have you?"

"No, my Lord."

"Then it is safe to assume that Severus is, as ever, performing his task as instructed, is it not?"

Voldemort sat back in his chair, fingers steepled, and contemplated the two offending men. What could have been a devious smile came upon his face as he turned to Snape.

"Perhaps I should allow you the pleasure of disciplining them, Severus," said Voldemort, seemingly delighted by his own wit.

"My Lord?" Snape asked.

"Well, clearly you have done _something_ to merit such trust from the woman," he said, his insinuation plainly evident. "I should think you would enjoy the chance to punish the men who would harm her."

Snape looked down the table at Greyback and Dolohov. He considered them for a moment and turned back to Voldemort.

"If you are offering…"

"I think the Cruciatus is in order, don't you agree?"

Snape forced a smirk to cross his face. He truly hated casting Unforgivables. The dark pull he felt when doing so was far too tempting.

"Dolohov," Voldemort said in a voice that brook no refusal. "Stand."

He obediently did so.

Dolohov was an aging man, it was a fact that Snape could not deny. The idea of torturing an old man did not much appeal to him. The moment he uttered the curse, however, Bellatrix's advice from so many years ago floated through his mind. "You have to mean it!" She had shouted at him as his trembling teenaged hand fought to cast the curse upon a helpless Muggle.

As Snape watched Dolohov's body writhe on the floor in unbearable pain, he realized that for the first time in many years, he did mean it. He wanted the man who had attacked Samantha to suffer. As that thought crossed his mind, his curse grew even stronger and a blood-curdling scream was ripped from Dolohov's throat.

The man's scream seemed to break Snape out of the haze of red that had descended. He took a step back from the crumpled body and, as he turned, found that Bellatrix had come to stand just behind him. She looked practically orgasmic at the scene. Snape knew that only her devotion to Voldemort's will kept her from adding her own curse to Snape's.

"Enjoying yourself, Bella?" Snape asked smoothly. In truth, he was trying desperately to get his heart rate under control. It had been so long since he'd put all of his strength behind such a powerful curse.

" _You_ certainly are," she responded, still gazing longingly at Dolohov's twitching body. "I haven't seen you torture like that in years." She sounded nostalgic.

Snape raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. He could feel a rising sense of dread as he looked across the table to Greyback. Although the man had just witnessed Snape quite soundly torture Dolohov, he showed no sign of fear or even apprehension. In fact, he looked defiant. It was obvious that he didn't appreciate Snape punishing either of them in the name of a woman who was trying to rid the world of werewolves.

 _"Greyback,"_ said Voldemort in warning. "You will accept your punishment for putting your will above mine.  On your feet."

He stood with a growl and walked around the table to face Snape, who could not help but notice what an imposing figure Fenrir Greyback was. Snape might be able to intimidate his students, but Greyback would have sent them cowering under their beds. The man was extremely dangerous; there were no two ways about it. In human or wolf form, Greyback would kill anyone in his way with no remorse. The thought weighed heavily on Snape's mind as he was reminded of how much danger Samantha had really been in.

Snape raised his wand.

" _Crucio_ ," he intoned in a low, harsh voice. Once more, the sense of power flooded through him. And, once more, he truly felt the desire to inflict pain upon the man. Though it took significantly more effort to effectively torture a werewolf, not to mention a werewolf like Greyback, Snape was able to drive him to his knees. Unlike Dolohov, Greyback was actively fighting back. Snape's mind had been completely clouded by the curse and all he could do when he felt resistance was push harder against it. His face contorted into a mask of anger as he stared down at the shaking werewolf, hate clear in his eyes.

When Snape felt his wand hand begin to shake from the force of his curse, he lowered his wand to end it. He looked up to find Voldemort eyeing him curiously. Snape immediately closed his mind, quickly realizing that his shields had fallen when he became so focused on casting his curses.

"Justice be done," said Voldemort finally. "You are dismissed, Severus."

Snape nodded once and turned to leave. As he walked towards the gates, he knew that he had simultaneously cemented and weakened his rank. Bellatrix, who had been suspicious of Snape since Voldemort's return, appeared to be reassured by his continued ability to inflict pain on others. He knew, however, that his clearly evident intent to truly torture the men had piqued Voldemort's interest. Voldemort had joked about Snape's relationship with Samantha and was obviously convinced that Snape had been able to use sex to control her (which was a patently ridiculous idea, given his sexual ineptitude). It was clear, however, that Voldemort was now wondering if there might be something more between the two.

Despite these developments, foremost on Snape's mind was the pressing, swirling darkness that had been stirred up by the curses he had cast. He could not remember the last time he had felt its alluring pull so strongly. The part of his brain still clouded by his actions urged him to give into it. This had been the voice in his head that had led him into the proverbial lion's mouth in the first place. It would be so easy – too easy – to simply give in and say to hell with it all. No more double life, no more risking his neck to save those who hated and despised him, no more dunderheaded students, no more subterfuge.

No more Samantha.

That thought stopped him in his tracks. He felt as though a veil had been lifted from his mind. He had to continue, there was no question of it. But what truly struck him was his reasoning. His mind did not automatically jump to his desire to atone for his sins. The brilliant green eyes that swirled through his mind did not belong to Lily Potter. Red hair was replaced with raven and the young, girlish face was now that of a grown woman.

Forcing himself to carry on his way to the castle, Snape continued to sort through his thoughts. Oddly enough, he felt as though a weight had been lifted. He was still under the thumbs of his two masters, but he felt as though he remained there for a different reason; a beautiful, living, breathing reason that seemed to like having him around. This belonged to _him_. It had nothing to do with forgiveness or obligations or debts.

Unable to keep his thoughts from turning dark, however, Snape knew that this reason also had a bloodthirsty, remorseless werewolf seeking revenge against her. It was typical of him, of course. Every silver lining had a gathering storm behind it. Despite his revelations regarding Samantha's place in his life, Snape was unable to take it for what it was. He was utterly powerless to prevent the shadows from encroaching on the one good thing in his life.

Snape returned to the dungeons to find Samantha in his lab. She was, as ever, completely engrossed in her notes and didn't notice that he had come to lean against the doorjamb, gazing at her like the lovesick fool that he was.

Samantha yawned and looked up to find Snape standing in the doorway. She had gotten quite used to his silent appearances and so was not startled by it. He looked…troubled, she concluded. Forlorn, perhaps. He dropped his eyes to ground after meeting hers for a few moments.

"Severus?" She asked softly. He hummed in response. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Snape as he moved into the room.

"You were called," she said flatly. He always looked weary after a summons.

"Yes."

"And?" Samantha looked at him expectantly.

Snape didn't know if he wanted to tell her what he had learned at his meeting. Her words to Dumbledore before she joined the Order, however, reverberated in his head.

"Fenrir Greyback was there, Samantha," he said at last. "He was there with Dolohov in the graveyard."

"Where?" She asked breathlessly. "I mean, wh–"

"It was all his plan to begin with. Dolohov was only in it for money," Snape explained. "Greyback can hardly move about in public unnoticed, so he employed Dolohov to stun you and bring you to him. He was going to take you to _meet_ the werewolves in the Dark Lord's service."

"And what did Vol – the Dark Lord say about it?"

"They were punished," said Snape simply. She didn't have to know that it had been at his hand.

"Oh," she said in a small voice. She truly didn't know what to say. What could she say? It was done and she had miraculously survived it.

Samantha glanced up at Snape. There were shadows in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"There is something else," she said, startling him out of his morose reverie. He shook his head.

"No, that is all that concerns you."

The look on his face tore at her heart. Samantha walked around the worktable to stand behind where Snape was seated on a stool. She dropped a kiss on the top of his head and placed both hands on his shoulders. He tensed for a moment at the unexpected contact, but quickly relaxed. Snape reached up to grab her left hand with his right while she ran her free hand through his hair. It needed a good wash, but that wasn't really her concern at the moment.

"I know that there are things you cannot tell me," she started quietly. "But if you need to talk to someone…"

"I have to speak with Albus," Snape said suddenly.

"Oh…well," said Samantha meekly, thinking he was rejecting her offer.

Snape sensed her disappointment and stood up to face her.

"No, I must go speak with him now. I have to report on my meeting," he explained.

The look of relief that came across her face thoroughly warmed him. It was bittersweet, though. The shadows that had been stirred up that evening still seemed to be clouding his mind. Even as he looked at her, knowing what they felt for each other, he could only think of how very tenuous it all was.

Snape kissed her softly and stepped around her back to the lab's open door. Making his way up the staircases to the headmaster's office, he couldn't banish the dire portends that had securely lodged themselves in his mind.

Finally reaching the office, Snape walked up the staircase to find the door already open and Dumbledore waiting for him.

"How is Tom, Severus?" He said by way of greeting.

Snape sighed as he sat facing the imposing desk. He told Dumbledore about Greyback's involvement in the attack on Samantha and about Voldemort's suggestion that Snape be the one to mete out punishment.

"You meant it," said Dumbledore simply. Snape, who had been staring out the window, flicked his eyes to the headmaster. "Bellatrix was undoubtedly enthusiastic about the whole affair."

Snape huffed in response.

"I know what it feels like to mean it, Severus," he continued in a serious voice. "How are you –"

"I'm fine," Snape snapped. The last thing he wanted was Dumbledore trying to coax him out of his somber mood.

"And what of the Malfoys?"

"I am certain that Draco has been given the task of killing you," said Snape. "From the looks of his parents, however, I am equally certain that the Dark Lord in no way expects him to succeed. Lucius has disappointed him and Draco's death will be his punishment."

"And he expects _you_ to succeed where the boy failed, I suspect?" Dumbledore said as he watched Fawkes thoughtfully. Snape nodded. "I suppose, then, that Voldemort does not foresee the need to have a spy at Hogwarts for much longer."

"Yes," said Snape slowly, not liking the way Dumbledore was keeping his tone deceptively light.

"You must give me your word that, should the school fall into his hands, you will do all that is in your power to protect the students." Dumbledore's eyes held him pinned to his seat.

Snape nodded once more.

"Until then, however, you need to keep an eye on Draco. His fear is palpable and we can't have any innocent bystanders hurt in his scheming."

"Until then, Albus?" Snape asked, ignoring everything else Dumbledore had said.

"You yourself said that Lord Voldemort expects me to be dead by the end of the year, did you not?"

"Yes, but–"

"But nothing, Severus. If we are to keep Draco alive, there is only one thing for it."

Snape's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"Are you intending to let him kill you?" He asked incredulously.

"Certainly not," said Dumbledore as if it were obvious. " _You_ must kill me."

Silence filled the room. The thought had occurred to Snape before, but it had been just that; an unspoken thought and one that he never seriously considered. One that he never _wanted_ to consider. He had no words for it. And so he used the only weapon he had against such feelings: sarcasm.

"Would you like me to do it now? Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"

Dumbledore smiled at Snape's morbid humor.

"Oh, not quite yet," he said lightly. "But, as we have discussed, it will be by the end of term."

"If you are so welcoming of this event, why not just let Draco do it?" Snape asked.

"He has committed sins, no doubt, but his soul is not yet so damaged," Dumbledore explained. "I won't have it ripped on my account. Not when my death is imminent anyway."

Snape sat stock still. He seemed to have been transported back in time, though he remained in this office with this very man. He was fifteen once more and he was being asked to forget and forgive another for nearly killing him. The same feeling he'd felt then washed over him twenty years later as he considered Dumbledore's reasoning.

"And my soul, Albus? Mine?" Snape's voice was quiet, but insistent.

"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation, Severus." Dumbledore paused for a moment. "Surely you would not leave the job to dear Bellatrix? I know she would be only too happy to do it. Or perhaps Greyback? I can only imagine how messy that would be."

"You ask too much of me," Snape whispered brokenly.

Snape was fed up with the manipulation. First Voldemort and his Cruciatus and now Dumbledore with his Avada Kedavra. Both men were unknowingly working in tandem to destroy his soul. All in one evening, no less. The line separating his masters was beginning to blur and Snape was not sure how much longer he would be able to handle it.

"It _must_ be done, Severus."

"And what if I don't want to do this anymore? Has that _ever_ crossed your mind?" Snape asked, sounding unbearably weary.

"You made a promise."

Snape winced. It always came back to this. The promise he had made in soul-gripping sorrow over the loss of the girl he had loved. Nearly twenty years had passed and the trust Dumbledore placed in him still rested upon that promise. Not him. Not his actions since. Just his desperate promise to protect Lily's son.

"To protect Potter," Snape said gruffly, knowing it was a feeble argument.

"I will die either way, Severus. If you are the one to do it, you will be here to protect the students. Including Harry."

Snape sat in thought for a moment over the infuriating Boy Who Just _Had_ To Live.

"What have you and Potter been talking about all those nights he's been holed up in here with you?" He asked abruptly.

"There are things I must tell him before my time is up. There is much he needs to know in order to do what must be done."

"And what must he do?" Snape asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"The night Voldemort attempted to kill Harry, a piece of his soul latched onto Harry's," said Dumbledore in what he seemed to think was an answer.

"A piece of Voldemort's soul lives within Potter?" Snape asked, trying to piece together the information. "Then why would he try to kill him?"

"Tom is not aware of it, I think," said Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Harry cannot know until absolutely necessary."

"Why?" Snape asked, thinking that Dumbledore surely would have already shared this bombshell with the boy.

"Because while that piece of soul lives, so too does Voldemort."

Snape's vision swam as he felt his lungs constrict. It was impossible.

"You cannot possibly be –," Snape stopped when he saw the look on Dumbledore's face. "Potter must die?"

"And it _must_ be by Voldemort's hand," Dumbledore continued, ignoring Snape's shock. "That is absolutely essential, Severus."

Dumbledore's plain admission of the facts sent Snape reeling. It seemed as though the floor had dropped out from under him and he fought to maintain his composure, though it was truly a losing battle.

"All these years," he began quietly. "I thought that we were…that it was for her."

"We have protected him because he could not do what he must otherwise. He must willingly, _knowingly_ give himself up, but he cannot be told this until the right moment."

"You have kept him alive so that he can die at the _right moment_?" Snape could not believe his ears. Everything he'd done to protect the stupid boy had amounted to little more than a stay of execution.

"Oh, don't be shocked, Severus. How many have you watched die?"

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," said Snape morosely. He sat and stewed in the information he had just been given. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. Finally, his temper broke and stood abruptly. "You have used me!"

"How so?"

"I have spied for you, lied for you, put myself in mortal danger all for the sake of Lily's _blessed_ son! _That_ was my promise!" Snape shouted, pacing furiously in front of Dumbledore's desk. "You _used_ me! I came to you on my knees and begged you, Albus. I _begged_ you. And you made me promise that I would protect the boy so that she would not have died in vain."

"Severus–"

"No!" Snape shouted as he whirled around to face the still-seated headmaster. Rage and sorrow mingled within him, quickly boiling over. Though his love for Lily may have faded, he was still enraged on her behalf that Dumbledore would abuse the trust her son had so willingly placed in him. "She died to protect him and now you're sending him off as little more than a pig for slaughter!"

Dumbledore drew a breath to speak, but Snape continued before any words emerged.

"At least the Dark Lord has never hidden _his_ desire to kill the boy!" Snape seethed, knowing the moment the words left his mouth that he should not have said it.

"You go too far, Severus!" Dumbledore said sharply, slamming his good hand down on the desk. Fawkes was startled by the noise and ruffled his feathers in annoyance. "You will do as I have told you because it _must_ be done. It is for the greater good."

"The greater good," Snape repeated softly, his deceptively quiet voice still laced with anger. He needed to get out of the room, out of this man's presence. "If that is all, Headmaster?"

Without waiting for Dumbledore's consent, he swept out of the room and down the stairs. As the disappointment and rage coursed through him, Snape thought that, at that moment, fulfilling Draco's task would not be as hard as it seemed.


	20. Animam Meam

For weeks after Snape spoke with the headmaster, Samantha could feel him slowly pulling away from her and, once more, drawing into himself. They had finally begun to patch things up and build a real relationship and then one conversation had them back at square one. She tried everything she could think of to pull him out of his dark mood, but nothing seemed to work. Gryffindor was losing house points at an obscene rate and the number of tear-stained faces that left his classroom each day was on the rise (Valentine's Day excepted, of course, because Snape had been notoriously vicious on that day since time immemorial).

"Severus, do you have any lavender?" Samantha asked him one evening after dinner. The two were ensconced in Snape's lab, each occupying opposite ends of the table and each engaged in completely unconnected occupations. For all they were interacting, they may as well have been on opposite ends of the castle.

Snape eyed the ingredients Samantha had lined up on her end of the table.

"Why are you making a Calming Draught? I just replenished Poppy's stores."

"Never you mind," she answered tartly. "Now do you have any lavender?"

"Tell me why you're brewing it," Snape demanded. His tone was adamant. Samantha sighed in response.

"Because Poppy's stores have been depleted by a _mysterious_ influx of overwrought students," she explained. "Coincidentally, they all seem to have just gotten out of Potions when they go to the infirmary."

"Meaning?" Snape asked, knowing very well why.

"Please tell me what's wrong," said Samantha softly, her brow creased with worry. She had lost count of the number of times she had asked him this question over the previous three weeks.

Snape remained silent for a moment before turning on his heel to retrieve the lavender. He placed it on the table near her hand, but before he could move out of her reach, she took hold of it.

"You've been like this ever since your talk with Albus. _Please_ talk to me."

"It is none of your concern," he said gruffly. He pulled his hand out of hers and returned to the scarlet potion simmering in his cauldron.

Samantha longed to ask why he was brewing such large quantities of Blood-Replenishing Potion, but he had been in no mood to answer any of her questions for nearly a month. If she were honest with herself, it made her nervous; both the potion he was brewing and the mood he was in. It was the volume one would make in the knowledge that there would soon be an overwhelming need for it. Snape had always been paranoid and a little overly cautious, but the potion didn't have a terribly long shelf life. Perhaps six months at most. It was not a comforting thought.

"It _is_ my concern when you send students to my class in tears," she countered. "It isn't easy to calm them down when you've been vile to them for a solid hour."

"I have been treating my students over the past few weeks the way I have _always_ treated my students."

"Then you've always assigned detentions for sneezing?" She asked, recalling the red, blotchy face of one of her third years as the girl related the horrifying tale between sobs.

"She could have compromised her ingredients," he answered imperiously

"You had them reading their books," said Samantha flatly. "They didn't even have cauldrons on the tables."

"Germs carry and the door to the student stores was open."

"You. Are. _Impossible_."

The rest of the evening was spent in silence, save for the clinking of stirring rods and the sound of knives slicing through ingredients.

The many evenings that followed kept to the same pattern. Few words were exchanged, aside from what was absolutely necessary. What unnerved Samantha, however, were the times when she caught Snape staring at her while he thought she wasn't looking. The look in his eyes made her heart sink. It felt as though he was looking at her as if it was the last time he would have the chance to do so.

It made her both uneasy and utterly miserable and her mood soon matched his. She was sure the two of them sitting side by side at meals made quite the sight. His glare was hard as diamonds, while her eyes were dull and cheerless. Samantha spent most of her time teetering between tears and tantrum. It was, frankly, starting to drive her out of her mind. By the time April rolled along, and even Slytherin's quidditch victories had done nothing to cheer him, she decided it was high time to sit down with the headmaster and have it out with him over Snape's downward spiral.

The moment she was ensconced in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, she was plied with tea and sweets. The tea she needed, the sweets would only put her more on edge than she already was.

"Let me get right to it, headmaster," Samantha started.

"You're wondering what Severus and I spoke about that has so affected his mood?" Dumbledore asked, smiling mildly. Despite his smile, however, his eyes were somber.

"I have a feeling it's something that is not meant for my ears." Dumbledore nodded. "But I can't – I don't," she sighed in frustration. "He's just…gone. He hardly speaks to me anymore, barely more than one or two words in an entire evening."

Samantha stared into her tea and ran her hand through her hair.

"I'm sorry, I'm talking to you like you were a marriage counselor or something."

"It's alright, my dear. The well-being of my teachers is just as important as anything else."

Samantha only just stopped herself from snorting derisively.

"Can you tell me anything? Or give me any hint as to what I could do to lift his mood?" Samantha asked, clearly desperate in her entreaty.

Dumbledore raised his elbows to the arms of his chair and steepled his fingers, resting them on his mouth. Samantha gasped in surprise as the sleeve of his robes slid down his arm. The curse that had blackened his hand had spread well beyond it and looked to be nearing his elbow.

"Albus, is that – are you alright?"

He raised his arm and gazed at it, just as he had so many months ago, as if it were nothing more than a museum piece, completely detached, and perhaps a bit bemused.

"Does it hurt?" Samantha asked. Dumbledore pursed his lips and shrugged.

"Not particularly," he answered lightly. "It is no matter, it won't be bothering me for much longer."

Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but had no words for it. What on earth did he mean by that? Had Snape found a cure? Were they going to amputate it? It was his wand arm, after all, surely they had no intention of doing so. She wanted to press him for more information, but it was clear he had no intention of discussing the matter any further.

"As to Severus," he began, cutting off her train of thought. "I am not sure that much will raise his spirits. But," he continued at her look of disappointment, "if anyone can, I am sure it is you. You have made him happier than I have perhaps ever seen him."

"Not saying much then, is it?" She asked dejectedly.

"Oh, I disagree," said Dumbledore vaguely.

"He won't speak to me," Samantha said, sounding completely hopeless. "I don't know what I can do if I don't know what's wrong."

"I have known Severus since he was a boy. He has _always_ been rather withdrawn and often sullen and he never had many friends to speak of. It's a hard pattern to break after so many years. You have gotten further than anyone I've been aware of," Dumbledore explained in a comforting voice. "The fact that he remains in the lab with you, nor thrown you out, is saying quite a lot."

"I really know how to pick 'em," Samantha muttered to herself. She cleared her throat and spoke up, "Thank you, Albus. I guess I'll just have to be more persistent."

"That's the spirit, my dear," said Dumbledore encouragingly. Something in his manner was off, however. His hope for her success was genuine, but he still gave the impression that it was a rather futile endeavor.

After another fruitless three weeks, Samantha was inclined to agree. Her persistence had only pushed him further away and had the added side effect of making him extremely angry.

For his part, Snape wasn't angry with Samantha specifically, but with the entire situation in which he found himself. As the weeks ticked by, he watched Draco become increasingly on edge. He snuck about the castle at all hours, often to the Room of Requirement. Unfortunately, Snape had no idea what he was using the room for, so he could not enter it while Draco was there. He had cornered the boy once and offered his assistance in Draco's unknown task (though Snape was absolutely sure it was Dumbledore's murder) and Draco had railed at him about how he had been chosen above all others for the honor and that it was his chance to save the family honor. It was clear that he resented Snape and blamed him for his father's downfall.

Samantha's persistence in trying to comfort him was irritating because he knew what he would soon have to do. Once Dumbledore was killed – by his hand, no less – he would have to fully assume his role as a Death Eater. He had to play his part so well that no one suspected his loyalties. Most importantly, he had to make _her_ hate him, and he hated himself for it. Much as he didn't want to admit it, she would be his liability. She would be the hardest to convince that he had not been the man she thought she loved.

As term wound down, however, Snape began to feel his resolve slip. He wanted to spend his last days as a "good guy" – whatever that meant these days – with her. He needed the memories of her to carry him through what he had to do. He needed a source of hope for an immediate future that he knew was likely to be soul crushing.

It was for these reasons that Snape ascended from his dungeons to Samantha's quarters a week before term was to end. He stood motionless in front of her door, trying to wrestle his emotions into submission. Knowing it was useless, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. It was well past curfew and he thought that perhaps she'd already gone to sleep.

A few moments later, however, Samantha opened the door. He had been half right. She had obviously gone to bed, but she didn't look like she'd been sleeping. Her hair was slightly tousled and her sleeping attire was nothing more than a cotton shirt and a pair of shorts. Snape knew then exactly what his point and purpose had been in going to see her. He _needed_ her.

"Samantha," he said in a low voice, heavy with need.

Her eyes widened at his tone and she stepped back to let him in. He had never been in her personal quarters before. A disconcerting thought, given his intentions.

"Severus, wh–"

The rest of her question was silenced when Snape's lips met her own. She was stunned for all of two seconds she began to kiss him back with fervor. Samantha had been trying for nearly two months to get him to respond to her – both verbally and physically. Nothing she'd done had met with any success. She had no clue what had changed his mind, but she wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Snape opened one eye to try to figure out which door led to her bedroom. Thankfully, she had left that door open and he began to guide her back toward it as he continued to kiss her. Samantha, completely unaware of his intent, did not react immediately. Once they had crossed the threshold, however, she pulled back from him.

"Severus, what is going on?" She asked, finally able to get the words out.

"I –," Snape shut his eyes momentarily. "I need this memory, Samantha."

"What memory?" Samantha asked, still unsure of where he was going. He nodded back toward the bed. "What?" She turned to look behind her at the bed and back to him. "No! Severus, you've been treating me like a stranger for the past two months and all of a sudden you show up at my door in the middle of the night looking for a quickie?"

 _"No,"_ said Snape immediately. "No, that is not what I want. Samantha, it's – it's complicated. I can't explain, just – I need this."

His eyes shone with desire and, oddly enough, sadness. Almost against her own will, she led him by the hand into her room and sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"Please," he said quietly, though the desperation remained clear.

Samantha was more than a little confused at his plea for companionship. The look on his face, however, and her own desire for him resulted in a potent concoction that quickly melted her apprehension and resolve.

"Come here," she said, pulling him back onto the bed with her. He kicked off his shoes and lay next to her.

For some time, they merely laid facing one another, Snape's hand in Samantha's hair and her own on his chest, grasping his coat. The moment they kissed, however, the floodgates were opened and all reserve was cast away in their need to divest each other of their irksome clothing.

Snape drank in the sight of Samantha's body. He marveled at the flat plane of her stomach, the curve of her hips, and the swell of her breasts. Her pale skin appeared luminescent in the moonlight that filtered in through her windows. Snape was torn between his base need and the heart wrenching sadness he felt in knowing that she would soon hate him and scorn him, just as everyone else in the castle would; would have to if he had any chance of surviving.

Samantha ran her hands over the lean muscle of Snape's chest and arms, reveling in the subtle strength she felt in them. His scars were many and varied and she longed to kiss and soothe each one; even the unmistakable Dark Mark that marred his left forearm. When her hand moved toward it, however, he quickly pulled her hand away.

"Don't touch it," he said quickly, sounding almost embarrassed that it was even there.

"It's your past Severus," said Samantha, pushing his hair out of his face. "It is meaningless now."

Snape screwed his eyes shut, feeling the pain radiate from his chest toward his extremities. He knew that Samantha likely thought him touched by the sentiment. In reality, he could hardly bear the sight of her forgiving face, knowing that within weeks – days, perhaps – it would be contorted by hate, anger, and, worst of all, betrayal and disappointment.

He opened his eyes when he felt her soft hand on his cheek. He looked down at her and saw nothing but concern and, his chest tightened, love painted across her face. _This_ was what he had come here for: to have the memory of _this_ face and of _this_ body.

With that thought in mind, he put everything he had into pleasing her. He wanted to kiss every inch of her skin, knowing that he might never again have the chance. Snape wanted to make her feel his love for her, even while he still felt himself incapable of voicing it.

It had been over a decade since the last time he'd found himself in this position, but when he began to move with Samantha, every thought of inadequacy left him. Every single, solitary thought left him, actually. Nothing but his eyes on her face and the feel of her against him, around him mattered.

As they both felt the coil tighten within them, he kissed her deeply, his tongue matching the movement of his hips. It was, quite possibly, the most intensely erotic moment either had ever experienced. They'd gone through the actions before, but this almost uncontrollable desire had not been present, and it made all the difference in the world. Technically impressive it was not, but somehow that ceased to matter when meaningless self-gratification was not the goal. It became more than trying to physically please each other and was swiftly elevated into the intense need to give concrete expression to the deep connection they felt toward one another.

With shuddering sighs and whispered names, the couple found their completion. Neither were much for cuddling and instead were content to lay facing each other, their hands firmly clasped. It was not long before Samantha drifted off to sleep. Snape, though exhausted, forced himself to remain awake as long as he was able. He watched her as she slept, her hand, surprisingly, had not loosened its grip even as she entered a deep sleep. With the first sigh of contentment he could ever remember having expelled, Snape allowed his eyes to close.  Keeping his hand firmly clasped in hers, he fell into a peaceful sleep.

Samantha was glad to find Snape still sleeping beside her when she awoke in the morning. It was obscenely early, but she had to wake him so that he could return to his rooms before the students began heading to breakfast. They both also had classes to teach that day. Samantha mused that Snape's students would begin to think he had a personality disorder if the dozing man beside her felt half as content as she did.

Samantha propped herself up on her elbow and watched him as he stirred from sleep, blinking his eyes in the faint morning light that was beginning to stream through her windows. He looked up at her and did something that made Samantha gasp in surprise and delight. He smiled. It was a genuine, heartfelt smile that, for once, reached his eyes. Snape had never once smiled like that in front of her. He smirked and he sneered and he glared and he glowered, but he did not smile. And this was, without a doubt, a smile. It didn't last long, but it was enough for her.

"Good morning," she said quietly.

He hummed in response and groaned as he stretched his arms above his head.

"What time is it?" Snape asked, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair.

"I don't know, why don't you tell me?" Samantha said with an impish grin.

Snape picked up his wand and gave it a flick, sending his pocket watch soaring over to him once it had struggled its way out of the pile of clothes on the floor in front of Samantha's bed. It landed in his hand and he popped open the top only to groan again when he saw the time.

"I have to go," he said in a gravelly early morning voice that sent shivers through Samantha.

Snape took note of it, but knew he didn't have the time to do anything about it.  The two parted reluctantly after a kiss that left them dearly wishing it was a weekend.

As Snape made his way back to his quarters, he tried to maintain the contentment that he had found with Samantha. However, he could only think about how that may well have been his last chance to be with her. He had wanted the memories, still wanted them, but he could also vaguely recall an old adage about not missing what you've never had. Would the previous night only make the ensuing weeks, months, Merlin forbid, years, of misery worse because he knew what he might have had? It was, of course, too late for that now. He was used to that feeling; not realizing what he had until it was too late to enjoy it. Not that he often had anything to enjoy, but the opportunity had presented itself from time to time. And he'd always missed the boat.

The day went as normally as any could go at a school of magic. Snape's students were pleased to see that he was back to his usual surly itself, rather than the vicious bastard he'd been for the preceding two months. Snape idly thought that he should perhaps always go through short periods of extreme brutality to make the children long for the days when he was only a nasty git.

As nightfall approached, however, Snape spotted Draco heading for the seventh floor once again. He watched as Malfoy walked back and forth along the corridor, his gray eyes scanning every inch of the hall as he did so. Snape thought he looked even more paranoid than he had been all year, if that were even possible. The boy had a white-knuckle grip on his wand and he looked as though he was having trouble catching his breath. The scene did not sit well with Snape.

By the time the door re-opened, Snape had thought more than once that he should either conjure a chair or leave. He had stood just around the corner for over an hour, waiting for the frightened Malfoy heir to emerge. And emerge he did, followed, to Snape's horror, by a small cadre of Death Eaters.

His heart stopped. Death Eaters were _in_ the school. _How_ had he managed it? The puzzle immobilized Snape for a moment before he realized that the group was heading toward him on their way to the staircase. He ducked into a dark alcove and watched the group pass. From his place behind a knight, he could make out only Greyback and the Carrow siblings. He didn't need to see anyone else to know that something terrible was about to happen.

As he followed silently behind the group, he felt as though he were walking to the gallows. And perhaps he was. He hadn't a clue where they were going, but he knew exactly what they were going to do. And what he would have to do as a result.

Without warning, a group of students, led by Lupin, opened fire upon the group. The Death Eaters took up defensive positions, allowing Draco the chance to make it up to the next staircase. Snape knew that he would not be able to get by the combatants unseen and so simply waited. He couldn't afford to expose himself fighting for either side. If he were to be injured by the students, he would not be able to fulfill his promise to Dumbledore. It was more than obvious what would happen should he take up arms against the Death Eaters.

Soon, more Order members had shown up to join the fray. With no small amount of disgust, he saw Greyback rip into Bill Weasley, who dropped to the floor like a rag doll. In the back of his mind, Snape thought of Samantha. It was for people like him that she was risking her life.

As though his very thoughts had conjured her, Samantha came running up the staircase to join the other Order members in defending the school. Snape nearly reached out to grab her as she passed, but knew that he could not. Not only would she just as soon hex him as let him hold her back, but he also could not do so without losing the ability to play his part as the loyal Death Eater. A part he knew he would be stepping into indefinitely within a matter of moments. Suddenly, he was very glad for all the fighting and injuries he had had to endure for the sake of her training. She was handling herself admirably. He could only pray that Greyback didn't catch sight of her.

Snape cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself when he saw the group that had initially entered the castle with Draco – for more had shown up since – break free of the fight and clamber toward the spiral staircase leading to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He knew then that he would be following those thugs and sycophants up that staircase to accept his fate.

Swiftly moving past the throng and sliding along the walls, Snape made it to the staircase. Knowing it was no use trying to enter with stealth, he blasted the door open, nearly forcing it off its hinges.

The sight that greeted him was worse than he could have expected. However, he kept his mask in place and swept his eyes over the motley crew assembled on the tower. Draco was standing in front of Dumbledore, his face white and his wand held rather limply in his shaking hand. There was blood running down Greyback's face and he eyed Dumbledore hungrily. Alecto Carrow looked deranged while her brother, Amycus, turned to face Snape, his wand still pointed at Dumbledore, with a frown upon his face.

"We've got a problem, Snape. The boy doesn't seem able –"

Snape, however, didn't hear a word the man was saying. His eyes were trained upon Dumbledore, his wand clutched tightly in his hand. It took considerable effort to maintain a mask of neutrality when Dumbledore rasped his name. But no, he wasn't simply saying Snape's name. There was a plea within it. Dumbledore was begging him to kill him. The thought brought the bitter taste of bile to the back of his throat as hate and revulsion – both for himself and the man that had forced him into this position – took a firm hold of him. He strode forward and shoved Draco out of the way. 'At least someone will be saved tonight,' Snape thought bitterly.

"Severus," Dumbledore said again, his voice broken and desperate. "Please."

Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. As the words worked their way to his mouth, he allowed all of the bitter feelings he felt toward the man come to the surface. He did, after all, have to mean it.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Snape watched numbly as the green light burst out of the end of his wand and struck Dumbledore directly in the chest. The force of the curse lifted him off his feet, sending his limp body over the side of the battlement and hurtling toward the ground below. The entire scene, though perhaps two seconds in length at most, seemed to drag on for hours. Even once the light of his curse had faded and the tower was once more lit only by the sickly green glow of the Dark Mark hanging in the sky above, Snape stood immobile for a moment before roughly grabbing Draco by the collar and shoving him out the door and down the spiral staircase.

He could not allow himself to feel remorse for what he had just done. It would be bad enough when he saw the look on Samantha's face as she realized that he was fighting against them. He didn't need to be wallowing in his own self-loathing at the same time. Steeling himself against the inevitable reactions from his students and fellow Order members, he gave the order for the Death Eaters to retreat.

"It's over, time to go!" Snape bellowed when he reached the end of the corridor after somehow having mindlessly made his way through the battle that had been raging at the foot of the stairs. He was relieved that he had already turned the corner before he could see the faces of those who had trusted him. And the one who had loved him.


	21. The Persistence of Memory

Samantha had seen Snape run through the mêlée. She had heard his shouted order of retreat. She had not, however, registered its meaning until Harry came pelting down the stairs of the tower screaming and ranting at Snape as he went.

But it wasn't possible. It simply was not possible. Samantha was sure she was simply worn out from fighting and couldn't concentrate on interpreting what had just occurred while she was in the middle of dueling a battalion of Death Eaters.

With her mind occupied elsewhere, the Death Eater she was fighting cast a curse that grazed her shoulder, leaving a line of blood that swiftly saturated the tattered fabric that surrounded it. The pain seemed to clear her head and forced her to focus on the task at hand. She would have time enough to think later. If she survived, of course.

Only minutes after Snape had rounded the corner, the instructions he had barked out still echoing around the corridor, the Death Eaters began to disengage as they tried to follow their order. Some of the students, who she had come to learn had formed their own defense group in their fifth year, as well as most of the Order members ran after them as they tried to flee the castle.

Samantha, however, could not go on. The Death Eaters' response to Snape's call had confirmed in her muddled brain what she had most feared the moment she saw Harry running after him. But what, exactly, had happened? Why were Snape and Draco running as though the devil were after them? And what was over? What happened on that tower?

Before she could gather her wits about her, she felt herself being herded through down the corridor towards the staircase. She looked to her left to see Lupin gently pushing her along. He looked tired, but uninjured, which is more than she could say for the eldest Weasley. Tonks and an ashen-face Ron were busy levitating him onto a stretcher to get him down to the hospital wing.

"Remus, what – what happened?" Samantha asked in a quivering voice. He shook his head.

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Severus – he – the Death Eaters, they listened to him, Remus." Lupin cocked his head in question. "Didn't you notice they all started leaving after Snape said it was time to go?"

Lupin shook his head again. It seemed he wasn't capable of much more. "I didn't hear much of anything over all the shouting."

"It can't be true, can it? He can't – he wouldn't, not after…" Samantha trailed off, her mind drifting to Snape's desperate plea from the previous evening. "No," she whispered to herself.

Lupin remained silent as they continued to descend the for once cooperative staircases. They reached the infirmary to find a harried Madam Pomfrey tending to a bloodied and torn Bill Weasely. Samantha saw what had happened and recalled the terror that had filled her when she realized that she could have just as well have been in Bill's place, or worse, had Greyback's plan been successful.

Just as Madam Pomfrey got Bill stabilized and the room's occupants began to feel themselves decompress, Harry entered the infirmary with the youngest Weasley. Samantha found herself searching the boy's face to find any hint of what he'd seen. Finding nothing, she walked to a window and stared out over the grounds, the voices behind her only a faint muffle.

"Dumbledore might know something that'd work, though," she heard Ron's voice cut through the haze. The boy voiced her own question next. "Where is he? Bill fought those maniacs on Dumbledore's orders, Dumbledore owes him, he can't leave him in this state –"

"Ron." Now the girl was speaking. Samantha had still not turned to face them. "Dumbledore's dead."

"No!" Lupin cried. It was then that Samantha looked over her shoulder and saw him fall into a chair, his head in his hands. Samantha shifted so that she was leaning on the windowsill, but still did not completely face the room. She felt nothing. Not sad, but not happy, just nothing. The only thing occupying her mind was an unexplained urge to stay within view of the window. She needed to stay by the window.

"How did he die?" Tonks asked in a whisper, her hair much more subdued than its usual pink. "How did it happen?"

"Snape killed him," Harry answered, his voice hard.

Samantha knew that he continued to speak, but heard nothing of what he said. All she could hear was blood rushing through her ears. She fell heavily onto a cot as she tried to catch her breath. There were no tears, though she knew they weren't far off. Samantha felt as though the entire world had just collapsed around her. Shock, confusion, dread, betrayal, and sadness swirled through her in a painful deluge. And then the tears were there; silent, but torrential all the same.

Moving off the cot, she curled up on the cold floor, leaning against the wall. The Weasley girl suddenly silenced the room and then she heard it. A phoenix, Dumbledore's phoenix, was singing. It was painful in its beauty and it heightened Samantha's despair to the realm of the celestial. She wouldn't have quieted the bird for the world, though. She wanted this anguish, she needed to feel something.

McGonagall's arrival broke the silence as she informed the battered and bruised group that Molly and Arthur Weasely would be arriving shortly.

Once more, Samantha tuned out the noise in the room and remained on the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. No one seemed to notice. They were too intent on getting all the information they could. Samantha, however, didn't care. She had heard all that she needed, all that she could take for the evening.

Samantha knew someone must have finally become aware of her lying in a ball on the floor at some point in the night as she woke up in one of the hospital cots, covered in more than one blanket. She threw the covers off and, as she remembered the previous night's events, ran straight for the toilet to empty the meager contents of her stomach.

After washing her mouth out as best she could with nothing but water, she trudged wearily back to the cot she'd been sleeping in. She couldn't even imagine what she must look like. The battle aside, she knew that she couldn't feel as she did without it showing clear as day on her face.

Of course, she still wasn't quite sure _what_ she felt. In the light of day, the initial anguish at hearing the news had passed and she was left with, well, it wasn't quite nothing. The fog had cleared from her mind somewhat and the better her brain functioned, the more confused she became. The hurt and betrayal she felt were busy waging war on her attempts to look at the situation analytically.

Nothing made sense. If Snape had really been a faithful Death Eater all along, he surely was one _hell_ of an actor to fool her so. The others had trusted Snape through Dumbledore. Samantha trusted Snape in spite of him. They had no personal knowledge of the man he was when he felt he could stop being the man they all expected him to be. But did she really know the man he was? Was that the act? Was it his responsibility to gain her trust and derail her research? If it was, he'd done a damn good job of it.

Samantha growled and roughly dragged her hands through her tangled hair. Why had he come to her and begged her so earnestly to take him into her bed? And how could he have then turned around and, not twenty-four hours later, murdered Albus Dumbledore? Nothing added up.

Suddenly, she heard the cot next to her creak and her head shot up.

"Miss Granger," Samantha said stiffly. Hermione sat on the edge of the uncomfortable cot looking rather uncomfortable herself.

"Um, professor, I – I'm sorry," she stammered. Samantha was utterly bewildered.

"Why are you apologizing?" Samantha asked, though it sounded more like a demand.

"I'm not, not really. I'm –," Hermione stopped, looking as though she were trying to figure out how to word her explanation without setting off her already edgy professor. "I know that you and Professor Snape were…close."

Samantha was stunned. She wasn't sure whether to be touched by the girl's sympathy or offended by her impropriety. Gryffindor, indeed. Hermione seemed to sense Samantha's conflicting emotions.

"I'm sorry, professor," said Hermione quickly. "I didn't mean to – that is, I mean –"

"Spit it out!"

"I'm just so confused!" She cried at last. "He was – Dumbledore trusted him. _I_ trusted him. How could he do this? He was never particularly nice to me, but during my detention and then that night at Grimmauld Place, he just seemed so…so…"

"Normal?" Samantha supplied. Hermione shrugged.

"Good," the girl replied quietly. "He seemed good."

Samantha sighed and swung her feet up on the cot as she leaned back against the headboard.

"I thought he was, too." Samantha felt tears well up again and closed her eyes against them. She would not cry over him.

"You had more reason to think so than me. Than any of us," said Hermione as she folded her legs under her. "You never once suspected?"

"Not even for a second," Samantha answered softly, her eyes still closed. "How is it possible that I never saw it coming? He's been acting oddly over the past few weeks, but this is certainly not one of the scenarios I expected."

Samantha thought absently that this was both an extremely odd and entirely inappropriate conversation to be having with a student, but who else was there to talk to? She had no girlfriends to speak of – not witches, anyway – and Hermione was actually closer to her age than any of the adult women in the castle. Truth be told, the only person she'd really worked on a relationship with was Snape. And look how well _that_ turned out.

"You seem to be taking it better than I would," said Hermione. "I mean, that is, if I were, you know – if I were you."

"If you were me, you would be taking it just as I am," Samantha said flatly. She stifled a sob when she realized it was something Snape would have said. Hermione seemed to think so too, for Samantha saw the girl's lip tremble before she quickly ducked her head to stare at her hands in her lap.

"I suppose so."

Samantha eyed the tearful girl with no small amount of confusion.

"Why are you so upset about this? Everyone else seems out for blood. Why aren't you angry?" Samantha was mystified by Hermione's reaction. She realized that she couldn't even recall what the girl had done when Harry made his grand announcement.

"I admired him," she admitted. "He is so intelligent and I always tried so hard to prove myself to him. Harry and Ron never liked him to begin with, so this is just putting more fuel on the fire for them. I always trusted him and the more I heard about what he did – or, well, what we thought he did for us, I never questioned him. I trusted, respected, and admired him."

Samantha wasn't entirely surprised by her answer. Hermione was obviously the type to value intelligence above just about every other human trait. His perceived bravery for the Light would only heighten the already quite elevated pedestal she had placed him on.

"And all along, my persistence in trying to please him – he never would have. I'm just a Mudblood to him," the girl said sadly. She seemed just as upset at the realization of what he really thought of her as anything else.

"He was a half-blood, you know." Samantha knew it was a small comfort, but a comfort all the same.

"The Half-Blood Prince." Samantha raised an eyebrow

"You knew?" Hermione nodded.

Samantha saw the conversation she'd had with Snape in her mind's eye. For a moment she'd forgotten about what she knew now and allowed a small smile to cross her face as she remembered his shy reluctance to tell her the nickname. When the memories of the previous night flooded back into her mind, however, her face fell.

"How did you find out?" Hermione asked, seeing that her professor seemed to be on the verge of a breakdown.

"He told me. That night when you – well, when you came down to the office," Samantha explained, she could feel her cheeks redden at the thought. She knew she should feel sick when she thought back on that moment, that she should want to retch at the thought of touching him. But she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"So Potter had the book, did he?"

Hermione nodded.

"He didn't know what that spell did, though," she said defensively.

"I should hope not," Samantha said, as though it were obvious. "Severus wouldn't tell me anything, but from the look of Potter when I saw him in the office, it was clear he was shaken by it. Soaking wet, covered in blood, and looked as though he'd seen a ghost."

Hermione gave a small smile. "No one ever understands that when I say it."

"Well, I can tell you we definitely didn't have ghosts floating about the corridors at Salem. And certainly not one on staff."

Though Hermione continued to question Samantha about her schooling, both knew that their somewhat meaningless chatter was nothing more than a coping mechanism. Neither wanted to think about what had happened or what was to come.

Once more, McGonagall's entrance into the infirmary stirred its occupants from their quiet conversations and silent reverie. She first approached Bill's bed to speak with those keeping vigil over him. Before she could open her mouth, however, Hagrid's hulking form lumbered through the infirmary doors.

"I've done it, professor," the half-giant said through a sob. "Moved him. Professor Sprout's got the kids back in bed and the Ministry's bin informed."

"Thank you, Hagrid," McGonagall said, turning to address the group around Bill's bed. "I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Sn –," she caught herself, realizing once more that Snape was not in the castle. She turned to Samantha, who suddenly felt no small amount of apprehension settle in her stomach. "Samantha, you're the only Slytherin on staff."

"I can't, please, it isn't –"

McGonagall raised a hand to cut her off.

"Those children need someone to lead them," she said in a voice that would not take no for an answer. "Especially now after – after what's happened."

"Temporarily," Samantha countered.

McGonagall nodded, though the woman wondered where they would find another Slytherin to fill Snape's role as Head of House. She briefly recalled his predecessor, Horace Slughorn, but she knew that Samantha was far more qualified for both the Potions post and Head of Slytherin. Slughorn had spent – and would spend, as far as she was concerned – far more time "collecting" than he did teaching.

"Harry, I need to speak with you privately for a moment," the, Samantha realized, headmistress said tersely. "Samantha, please wait with the other heads outside of D – my office."

" _Temporary_ Head of House," Samantha muttered to herself, following McGonagall and Harry out of the hospital wing. She heard Hermione snort as she walked out the door. At least she could amuse _someone_. Snape had usually been the only one to really appreciate her humor.

The meeting went much as she expected, though she was surprised to find that none of the other heads objected in any way to her representing Slytherin. Flitwick, as a matter of fact, seemed rather enthused by the development and openly voiced his opinion that the appointment should be permanent. (Of course, Flitwick was enthused by a lot of things.) Samantha lost count how many times she had reminded them that she had only agreed to serve as an interim head, even if the support was welcome.

Truth be told, despite what Snape had done, Samantha still felt as though she was usurping his position. The children she represented remained to be _his_ Slytherins, and she was quite sure _they_ still saw it that way. After all, she was a Muggle Studies teacher; not only a "soft" subject in the eyes of many students – in and out of Slytherin – but also cause for her being branded a blood traitor by more than a few of them. Then again, with Snape gone and McGonagall as headmistress, she was fairly certain most of those students wouldn't be showing up for the following term anyway.

As soon as the decision had been made to refer the matter of the school's closure to the directors and, at Harry's insistence, allow the students to stay for Dumbledore's funeral, McGonagall spotted the Minister of Magic making his way across the lawn. Harry immediately asked for permission to leave, which McGonagall readily gave. Samantha rather wanted to leave as well, but knew she would not receive so agreeable an answer.

The moment Scrimgeour and his delegation began to ascend the stairs to the office, led by McGonagall, Samantha did her best to blend into the walls. It was all for naught, however, for the Minister scanned the room the moment he entered and his eyes almost immediately fixed upon her.

"Who are you?" He asked unceremoniously.

Samantha opened her mouth to answer, but McGonagall beat her to it.

"Professor Rhodes," she said in a hard voice. "Muggle Studies teacher and now Head of Slytherin.

"Temporary," Samantha said, taking a step forward and raising one finger. She knew she would eventually have to stop correcting them. She was beginning to sound like a broken record.

The Minister eyed her suspiciously.

"I've never heard of her," said Scrimgeour, sounding dubious of her qualifications. Samantha bristled at his implication. "And you think it is wise to appoint a Muggle Studies teacher to Head of Slytherin?"

"It won't be for long, Minister," Samantha broke in before McGonagall could answer. "They likely won't even know it happened. I would add, however, that I am a Slytherin myself."

"How? You obviously didn't go to Hogwarts."

"Adults are just as capable of being sorted as children are," Samantha explained as if it were blatantly obvious. He didn't have to know that she herself hadn't known if it was possible beforehand.

Scrimgeour once more eyed her up and down. She fought the urge to squirm under his intense gaze. Once he had turned his attention back to McGonagall, she looked down at herself to realize she was still wearing the clothing she had on during the battle. Though the wound on her shoulder had been healed, the tear in her sleeve remained. She also realized that her rather severe black clothing and robes resembled a little too closely Snape's customary attire. Truthfully, it looked like she was in mourning. Problem was, she wasn't sure whom it was for.

During the ensuing meeting, Samantha stood apart from the others, arms folded over her chest, and simply watched. She knew it was also a rather Snape-ish thing to do, but she couldn't help but feel that she had nothing to add to the discussion. She had never been privy to the administrative affairs of the school and was not very well acquainted with the Slytherin students, seeing as not a single one of them took her class. She did, however, do her best to not look as though she was out of her depth.

The following week passed in a blur. Dumbledore's funeral came and went (she had spent most of it _still_ wondering what had passed between he and Snape in that conversation that had so upset the Potions Master), the children were herded onto the Hogwarts Express, and she herself was whisked off to the Weasley's home for the summer. This was decided without her input, but, truth be told, she had nowhere else to go and she didn't like the idea of staying in the castle all summer without the distraction of the students. At least she knew that she'd never get a moment to hear – and subsequently, dwell on – her own thoughts for the following two months.

Despite the constant noise and Molly’s frequent attempts to ply her with food, however, nothing could pull Samantha out of her depression, if that was even the word for it. She felt as though she was in a waking coma. Nothing seemed to get through to her and she spent her days numb and nearly mute. She ate because she knew she had to and slept because her body still became tired, even if her mind didn't notice one way or another. She could tell she was losing weight at an alarming rate and every time she looked in the mirror, the paler she was and the more pronounced the circles around her eyes had become. Her eyes, which even she could admit had been one of her best features, had transformed from their once brilliant green into a color best described as a rather unattractive shade of mossy green. She was, truthfully, wasting away.

For nearly an entire month into the summer holiday, Samantha had taken to simply staring out of windows. Wherever she was, whatever it was she was supposed to be doing (which was quite a lot, given the fast approaching nuptials between Bill and Fleur), she inevitably found herself in front of a window. Not thinking, not really anyway, just looking, even if she hardly registered anything she saw. Nor did she see the looks of concern from anyone who paid attention to those things. She had even overheard a conversation between Hermione and Ginny Weasley in which both girls expressed their concern over her recent behavior. It was the first time Samantha actually made the effort to listen to anything someone said.

"What's wrong with her?" Samantha heard Ginny ask Hermione quietly as they worked in the garden. Neither knew that Samantha was at the window, which had been opened to air out the house.

"It's Snape," Hermione whispered back. Ginny's face must have shown her lack of comprehension, for Hermione continued, "They were…together."

" _She_ was with that git?" Ginny asked, her voice raising an octave as well as a few decibels. Hermione shushed her.

"Not so loud, Ginny," Hermione hissed. "And he isn't – or wasn't a git."

"Well, he always _was_ , even if you didn't know it," the girl corrected her.

"You never saw them together, I did."

"Ew, you saw –"

"No!" Hermione quickly stopped her. "I mean, not really…only once."

"Only once? What did you see?" Ginny asked. Suddenly her disgust was replaced with the kind of interest one only saw in an incurable gossip.

"When Harry used that horrible spell on Malfoy, I went down to Snape's office to get him and they were –"

"They were what?" Ginny urged her on. Samantha heard Hermione sigh.

"Kissing, alright? They were kissing."

"OK, ew," Ginny said, her revulsion returning.

"Well you asked!"

There was a moment of silence before the conversation resumed.

"Wait, why did you go to Snape? Why didn't you get Lupin or Madam Pomfrey?"

"I don't know," Hermione answered truthfully. "He was the first person that came to mind when I saw them."

"Of course he would be. It was a dark spell, wasn't it? Everyone always knew he was into the dark arts," said Ginny derisively.

Hermione ignored Ginny's comment and resumed their conversation. "And anyway, I wasn't talking about them kissing. He could still have been a git and been capable of doing – _that_."

"Don't remind me, please."

" _Anyway_ ," Hermione cut in again. "It was the way they talked to each other. I've never seen Professor Snape look so – so at ease. And he looked at her, well, like Harry looks at you."

Samantha supposed they thought that was a good thing. These days, she never really noticed how anyone looked at anyone else.

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Ginny asked, the doubt clear in her voice. "I just can't see him caring about anyone. He was always so nasty to everyone."

"Not to her. And not even to me when she was around," said Hermione insistently. "She _really_ cared about him. I think she's still having trouble accepting what happened, much less being upset about what he did."

Samantha hadn't even come to that conclusion herself, but realized the girl was right. She still hadn't internalized the events. After everything that had happened between them, she was still reluctant to believe it was true. Or, at least, that it had happened in quite the way Harry described it. She had a hard time believing the worst of him.

"I still can't imagine anyone caring so much about that git. We all suspected him, didn't we? We were surprised, but we all thought it was possible that he was still a Death Eater."

"Think about it, Ginny. Imagine if Harry –"

"You can't even compare them!" Ginny almost shrieked, offended by the very idea.

"Just listen, will you? Put yourself in her place for a second," Hermione whispered furiously.

Samantha wondered why the girl was so insistent on defending her and she suspected that Hermione wasn't quite sure herself. In fact, it almost sounded as if Hermione was defending Snape nearly as much as she was Samantha.

"She didn't suspect Snape of it just as you would never suspect Harry," Hermione tried to explain.

"But how? She knew him better than anyone," said Ginny. Hermione scoffed in response.

"I _told_ you, he didn't treat her the way he did everyone else. She told me herself that she _never_ suspected him. Even _I_ noticed that he was different around her," Hermione said emphatically.

Ginny seemed to sense exactly what Samantha had already noticed in Hermione's tone.

"Hermione, are you defending that bastard?"

"No," Hermione answered, though she didn't sound very convinced of it.

Before Ginny could berate Hermione for her half-hearted denial, Mrs. Weasley broke up their discussion. Apparently, they had stopped doing whatever task the matriarch had set them to in the heat of their conversation.

After listening to their conversation, Samantha's brain began to work a bit better and she finally started to really think about what she thought of the entire situation. While she couldn't muster the kind of loathing everyone else seemed to reserve especially for Snape, she still found herself feeling a bit used. The insistence in his voice that night he had come to her led her to the conclusion that he knew what was coming. It made her angry to think that he would make such a show of convincing her to sleep with him, all the while knowing that he soon would be committing such a heinous act.

But he had said he needed the memory. In her best moment, she might have thought he wanted to remember what he felt for her and she for him. She was not, however, feeling very charitable. No, she decided, he played his part so he could have the _sex_ to remember, not her and not them. He probably boasted about it, along with his murder of Dumbledore, to all of his evil friends. Voldemort probably praised him for it. Bastards. All of them.

Two weeks flew by and Samantha was sure she had convinced herself that she didn't care for Snape at all, much less loved him. She had stopped staring out of windows, but she still remained listless. For all she had finally come to a final decision about Snape, it only made her feel as though she had lost something and so the ashen face and expressionless eyes remained, even if she allowed herself to talk to someone every once in a while. She was sure the others felt as though she had made progress. She wasn't so sure she hadn't taken an enormous step back.

The days passed with no news, though Samantha had become aware that the so-called "Golden Trio" had come to exhibit the most suspicious of behavior. They were secretive and uncharacteristically quiet, especially for Ron. She didn't know what they were planning, though it was clear they weren’t simply keeping themselves to themselves, but she did know that Mrs. Weasley was doing everything in her considerable power to keep them separated.

One night, with only a week and a half remaining before the wedding, it was decided that an Order meeting should be held to discuss issues surrounding both the wedding and the upcoming school year.

Slowly, the Order members arrived at the Burrow and congregated in the living room. Suddenly, with only minutes left before the start of the meeting, Kingsley Shacklebolt arrived, breathing heavily and trying to pull in just enough breath to speak.

"He's – he's dead," he finally got out.

Samantha gasped and sank to the couch with a hand over her mouth. She had a horrible feeling of dread in her stomach that she knew exactly who "he" was.

"Who? Who's dead?" Arthur Weasley asked immediately.

Shacklebolt took in a few more deep breaths before answering, everyone in the room looking at him anxiously.

"Lupin," he said at last.

Tonks' wail of grief covered the rush of air that was expelled from Samantha's lungs. For one terrible moment, Samantha was sure that it was Snape who had died and, though she hated herself for it, almost felt relieved that it wasn't. She had been so sure that she’d thoroughly erased her love for him from her mind and her heart, but was quite forcefully reminded in that moment that it was a futile endeavor. She was shaken to her core at the realization and was relieved to know that her tears for Snape were interpreted by the others as being for Lupin.

Once more, what she knew to be her irrational feelings for Snape had overridden the grief she knew she should have felt for the death of another. Not to say that she hadn't cared about Dumbledore's death and certainly not that was relieved that Lupin was dead, but her emotions seemed to have a mind of their own, and they always came back to Snape.

She felt an arm come around her and looked to see that McGonagall, of all people, was making an attempt to comfort her. Samantha's guilt returned three-fold, knowing that the woman thought she was comforting her in her grief for the death of a friend, while Samantha was, in truth, expressing her relief for Snape's continued existence.

Looking around the room, Samantha began to feel as if she didn't belong there. As if her loyalties unwillingly lay where they shouldn't. The teary eyes and sobs only made her guilt grow and she knew she had to get out of the room.

Samantha stood abruptly, McGonagall's arm falling from her shoulders, and moved swiftly to the door to the garden. Standing in the middle of the garden and looking up at the stars, she realized then and there that, if it came to it, she would not – _could not_ – harm Snape. Even while knowing what he did and who he was, and even knowing that he had used her to carry out his master's orders, she could not deny that she had been quite thoroughly taken in by his act. It had all felt so genuine, so real, and, as a result, her feelings for him remained unaltered. In spite of all the evidence and all that she now knew to be true, Samantha also knew without a doubt that she would never be able to hate the insufferable bastard. It was a terrible truth to recognize that one loved a man like Severus Snape unconditionally, but, in the end, it was a truth she was unable to deny.

Samantha stood in the garden long enough to feel a chill seep into her skin. Though it was the middle of summer, the ever-increasing numbers of dementors roaming the country were wreaking havoc on the weather.

She heard the door open and shut behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Bill Weasley, still looking rather ragged from his ordeal, walking towards her.

"How did it happen?" She asked quietly, suddenly realizing that she had fled the room before Shacklebolt could explain _why_ Lupin was dead.

"Greyback," he answered bitterly.

Samantha was not terribly surprised.

"He almost got me once, you know," said Samantha, not really knowing why she was telling him this. "Dolohov tried to hex me when I was coming out of Mass. Severus told me later that Greyback had been there too and planned the whole thing."

Samantha wondered for a moment if Snape had anything to do with how the Death Eaters had learned of her whereabouts on Sunday mornings. She pushed the thought away. It would simply be too much to bear.

"Kingsley said that – that there was a message for you," Bill said, sounding as though he wasn't sure he should be telling her. "They carved 'Cure This' into his chest."

Samantha stifled a sob and clapped her hand over her mouth as she turned away from him. She felt the urge to be sick. First her relief about Snape and now to learn that Lupin was dead because of _her_ , she was absolutely disgusted with herself.

"Samantha," he started gently, "Remus was an Order member and had always been a personal enemy of Greyback. He'd have done this with or without you."

She nodded absently. She knew it was true, but it didn't change the fact that they had mutilated his body because of her. She didn't even want to ask if they knew if it had happened while he was still alive.

"Does Tonks know about this?" Samantha asked in little more than a whisper. She turned back to him to see him shaking his head.

"No," he said. "And she doesn't need to."

Samantha was silent for a moment before answering.

"I feel like that would be lying to her. If that had happened to S –," she stopped herself quickly. "If I were her, I'd want to know."

"She has enough on her mind already, one more piece of news like this and she could miscarry."

"Yes, of course, I didn't think of that. You are right."

The thought had, indeed, never even crossed her mind. Pregnancy and childrearing were rather foreign concepts to her as she had never had the inclination herself and nor did the vast majority of her friends. Had things turned out differently with Snape, she wondered if that would ever have been a question that needed to be asked.

It was, however, better to not think on such things at all. It only made it all seem so much worse when she thought about all the things that could have been in addition to those that already were.

Bill seemed to sense her introspection taking a dark turn and broke the silence.

"You need a drink," he said rather bluntly. A splutter of laughter escaped from Samantha's lips.

"I look that bad, do I?"

Bill threw an arm around Samantha's shoulders and guided her inside. Once back in the living room, Ogden's firmly in hand, she sat back and listened to the stories each had of Lupin. Wishing that she'd spent more time with him than she had – time that she had spent with Snape – Samantha simply allowed herself to feel as though she belonged there and pushed away the thoughts of betrayal and guilt.


	22. Return to Hogwarts

Samantha was sure that without the upcoming wedding to pull everyone's attention away from recent events, they likely all would have ended up at least near to the state she'd been in for the majority of the summer. Once Fleur's parents had shown up and final preparations began, however, every waking moment was spent cooking, decorating, cleaning, and doing anything else Mrs. Weasley could think of.

Much as she tried to ignore it, all this talk of the wedding could not help but make her think of her own wedding and, this she really did not want to think about, the possibility that she could have had a second. Her wedding to Mark had been everything she ever wanted. She had the perfect dress, the perfect church, the perfect music; everything was just as she had always dreamt it would be (it helped that he had easily been able to cover every expense her parents could not).

And what of Snape? She had no doubt in her mind that had she been given only a few more months with him, the discussion would have come up. She would have made sure of it. But was he even that kind of man? If he had been the man she'd thought he been to begin with, that is. To be honest, she'd never even thought about it before now. The war was, and remained to be, in the way. It would have been a depressing discussion, to be sure. More if's than she liked to think of; _if_ they both survived, _if_ Voldemort was defeated, _if_ they hadn't managed to kill each other by then in another one of their fights.

Now there was an interesting thought. He had taught her to duel. He had made absolutely sure that she could defend herself and, in doing so, had never used any truly harmful spells. Nothing more than any normal student would use on another. There were no Unforgivables, nothing that caused any horrific physical pain. He could certainly have gotten away with it. And yet he hadn't. And he had not shirked the task Dumbledore had set him. He _really_ had taught her to fight.  Her ability to defend herself _that_ night was a testament to his success.

Samantha spent the days leading up to the wedding trying to avoid these very thoughts by helping Mrs. Weasley in the kitchen. Perhaps it was her talent for potions – or the other way around – that made her a very adept cook. Truth be told, she felt she was more suited to baking. Cooking didn't require the kind of precision that baking and brewing did and that lack of precision drove her up the wall. She also hated using magic when cooking, perhaps another side of effect of her love of potions, most of which would be compromised were magic to be used to stir or add ingredients. This was clearly _not_ Molly Weasley's culinary _modus operandi_.  Maddening, though it was, the frustration she felt for the Weasley matriarch's particular brand of kitchen etiquette helped to focus her attention. If only to save herself from flying cutlery.

Scrimgeour's unwelcome appearance on the night of Harry's birthday, however, helped to remind them all of what life was like outside the Burrow. While relieved that the Minister no longer seemed very interested in her existence (much less presence), Samantha found herself quite keen to know why he needed to speak with the children alone. The children, however, were not talking. In fact, none of them had been doing a whole lot of talking, apart from amongst themselves, for most of the summer. She knew they had plans, but for the life of her, couldn't figure out what they were. Hermione had been most unhelpful on the one occasion that Samantha had tried to pry it out of her. Of course, if Molly Weasley hadn’t had luck in doing so, she rather thought she didn't stand a chance anyway.

All of this was more or less forgotten on the day of the wedding. With the majority of the Burrow's occupants running around like chickens with their heads cut off, it was rather difficult to find time to think, much less hear one's own thoughts.

With more than a touch of sadness, Samantha pulled on the dress she'd worn on New Year's Eve. If she had really wanted to stop and examine her emotions at that moment, sadness would not have begun to cover what she felt. There was still tenderness there when she thought back on the night she'd first worn the dress, sadness over what she'd lost since then, betrayal and anger toward the infuriating man himself, and guilt over all of it for still caring for his well-being. Samantha wasn't sure if she had room left for anything else. And for that, she felt even more guilt for being simply incapable of expressing any _real_ happiness for the couple.

The ceremony itself passed in a blur. Samantha spent most of it forcing herself to stop imagining what it would look like if she were in Fleur's place and Snape in Bill's. It was a fruitless exercise, of course, because it would never happen. Snape had made damn sure of that when he murdered Dumbledore, even though she could still feel the doubt surface every time she thought back on Harry's description of Snape's cold-blooded crime. With the accompanying guilt, of course. Samantha was very good at that, after all, she wasn't Catholic for nothing.

Samantha did not feel the inclination to dance during the reception and only humored the twins before begging off on account of her sore feet. She sat at a table in a corner, never without a glass in her hand. She knew that she would inevitably become maudlin and, in all likelihood, start crying if she kept drinking, but she was feeling sorry for herself and had no intention of trying to break her mood.

Her grand plan for the evening was shattered upon seeing the silvery lynx that she knew to be Shacklebolt's Patronus come bounding toward the tent. She knew from the moment she set eyes on it that it was not bearing glad tidings for the happy couple. Why was it that Shacklebolt was always the one to deliver the bad news?

Suddenly, Shacklebolt's booming voice began to resound around the tent.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Silence. Chilling, heavy silence.

And then all hell broke loose. Women were screaming, children were crying, and, once the apparition wards had fallen, pops sounded continuously as wedding guests retreated and Death Eaters appeared.

Samantha felt adrenalin rush through her as she scrambled for cover when the curses began to fly. Retrieving her wand from a hidden pocket in the skirt of her dress, she began to return fire and soon had Charlie Weasley fighting by her side as they attempted to protect the various guests who were trying desperately to escape. Samantha had no intention of removing herself from the battle, but when Fenrir Greyback showed up and immediately set his eyes upon her, Charlie grasped her around the waist.

"We're going," he said firmly and, despite Samantha's threats and pleas, he apparated just as the werewolf descended upon them.

Samantha sucked in a lungful of air when the pair reappeared on solid ground. She looked around, having no idea where Charlie had taken her.

"A cousin of ours lives here," he explained to her wordless question. "Go inside. I'll put wards up and come back once we figure out what's going on."

"No! Charlie, I'm not cozying up in here while all of you fight!"

"You're a liability, Samantha," said Charlie bluntly as he began to push her in the house. "You can't protect yourself against Greyback and we won't be able to divert his attention away from you."

She didn't like it, but she knew it was true. She had no hope of fending off the werewolf.  With a resigned sigh, she did as she was told. Hardly registering the interior of the house after entering, and even though she knew that she would be safe within it, she sat in a chair facing the door, a firm grip on her wand.

The longer she sat, the more the thoughts she had tried to keep at bay during the fight at the Burrow began to trickle into her mind. She had to admit to a touch of relief, after the anger had subsided, once Charlie had brought her to…whosever house this was. Samantha had to wonder if Snape had been there. Her relief came from the thought that she was spared the possibility that she would have to fight him. If he really had turned against them, he would have easily taken her down, making her nothing more than a convenient treat for Greyback.

Truthfully, though, she was glad she hadn't been put in a position to fight him because she knew she wouldn't have been able to force herself to hurt him, regardless of his loyalties. And what if his feelings for her had been real? What if, despite his better judgment, he had really allowed himself to – well, what did she think he'd felt for her? He had never said he loved her, but nor had he objected to her telling him that he loved him. Whatever word he may have used, if he had really felt anything for her, would he have been able to harm her if he'd found himself face to face with her today? Samantha wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

Though Samantha had not been keeping track of the time, she knew it must have been hours before Charlie returned. The sun had set long ago and a chill was beginning to come over her, as she had not bothered to light a fire.

"What happened?" Samantha asked eagerly, nearly running over to him the moment he stepped foot in the door.

"Exactly what Kingsley's Patronus said: they've taken the Ministry," Charlie told her wearily.

"And Hogwarts?"

Charlie shrugged. "We don't know. He must have plans for it, though."

"Is Vol –"

"Don't say his name!" Charlie said immediately.

Samantha was taken aback. Charlie had never seemed like the type of name to object to Voldemort's name being said aloud.

"Why?"

"There's a taboo on it. If you say his name, they _will_ find you."

"So, what now?" Samantha asked.

"You're staying here for now," he answered. "We're keeping as many people as we can away from the Burrow because it's the first place they'll look for anyone. Any more than that, we don't know. The Ministry and, presumably, Hogwarts are in the hands of the Death Eaters now."

"Can any of us even teach anymore? I can't possibly see them allowing McGonagall to become headmistress," said Samantha. She wondered to herself just who they would replace her with. The only name that came to mind was Snape.

"We don't know," he said again, a little annoyed by Samantha's questioning. "The Order has been compromised because Snape will have given up Grimmauld Place and any other safe houses he would know of."

"On the bright side," Samantha started in a tone that suggested it wasn't much of a bright side. "Dumbledore kept Severus out of the loop on a number of matters because of his position."

Charlie eyed her curiously. He knew that the two had been close, but surely not as close as her comment suggested. Samantha sighed.

"Yes, Charlie. We were…together," she said sadly. Suddenly she remembered the question that had plagued her during her wait for his return. "Was he there? At the Burrow?"

"We don't know," said Charlie. Samantha caught the wary tone in his voice. She would clearly need to sound less desperate. "He used to get out of fighting because he was at Hogwarts, but that doesn't really matter anymore, does it? He was there when we moved Harry."

"I know," Samantha said softly. She remembered hearing that Snape had been the one to curse George. At the time, however, she was still caught in a haze of disbelief and had barely registered the news.

"Harry, Hermione, and Ron have gone missing," Charlie said suddenly. Samantha whipped her head around to face him. Charlie put his hands up to calm her when he saw the stricken look on her face. "They didn't get them. We would know by now. We think this is what they've been planning all summer. Harry's been saying Dumbledore told him he had to do something, but none of them would say what it was."

"It's all gone to hell in a hand basket," said Samantha, dropping her head into her hands. Charlie smirked at her remark.

"It was going to happen. We all knew it. Maybe not the way it has, but we knew _he_ would make his move sooner rather than later. Especially now that Harry's of age."

"Well, I guess we just have to wait."

Charlie nodded wordlessly.

Samantha looked up at him from her chair. "Thanks, Charlie. You were right, of course, Greyback would have gotten to me and there would have been nothing any of you could have done."

"I know you wanted to stay and fight. But we're trying to keep the casualties to a minimum, and if that means holding some back, then so be it," said Charlie.

"Alright, well, thanks for coming by. Try not to leave me out of the loop."

"We won't," he said. "Just don't get any ideas."

"Me? You make me sound like a bloody Gryffindor," said Samantha with a smirk. "I'm a Slytherin."

"Yeah," he said, walking out the door. "That's what I'm worried about."

Samantha snorted and locked the door behind him. She sighed as she turned back to the empty room, suddenly feeling unbearably tired. Laying down on the couch in the living room, Samantha was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

The next morning, Samantha awoke to the sounds and smells of breakfast being cooked. Her stomach grumbled as the smell of bacon wafted into the living room. She sat up, her neck protesting from the awkward position she'd slept in all night. Her spine and neck popped as she stood up and stretched and headed into the kitchen.

"Good morning, dear," said the kindly woman who bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Weasley brood. She had dark brown hair and eyes to match and looked to be about ten or fifteen years older than Samantha.

"Hello," Samantha said through a yawn. "Excuse me."

"Quite alright. You had quite the night," she said as she loaded up a plate with bacon, eggs, and toast. Placing it on the table, she gestured for Samantha to sit. "Eat. It'll help."

"Thank you," said Samantha, digging into her food. "Has there been any news?"

"Not yet," she said, turning toward Samantha. "I'm Jane, by the way."

"The _wife_ of a Weasley, I take it."

Jane gave a soft laugh.

"Yes, my husband's name is Sean. He's one of Arthur's cousins."

"Well, thank you both for allowing me to stay here. It obviously puts both of you in danger."

"Oh, forget about that," said Jane, waving her hands in the air. "We all have to do our part."

Samantha finished her breakfast and, despite her protestations, helped Jane do the washing up.

Though Samantha was glad for being placed with such an amiable couple, she began to feel stir crazy after the first week of her confinement. She knew that other Order members were out there actually doing things, contributing to the war effort. And here she was, eating three square meals, reading in front of the fire, and being generally well looked after. It was, without doubt, going to drive her mad.

Finally, two weeks later, there was a knock on the door. Jane and Samantha, who had been sitting in the living room, froze. Taking out her wand, Jane approached the door cautiously. In their paranoia, neither registered the fact that whoever was knocking obviously knew how to get past the wards in order to get as far as the front door.

Samantha heard the door open and the unmistakable brogue of Minerva McGonagall. She stood to greet the woman who had been the first person to greet her at Hogwarts. Had it really only been a year? After all that had happened, it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since that first glimpse of Hogwarts.

Her eyes immediately flew to the letter in the woman's hand.

"You have news," Samantha said. McGonagall nodded, her lips tight.

"From Hogwarts," she answered.

McGonagall wordlessly handed the letter to Samantha.

Reseating herself, Samantha opened the letter with shaking hands and almost dropped it the moment she saw the handwriting.

> _Professor Rhodes,_
> 
> _I am requesting that you return to Hogwarts for the coming term to fill the post as Potions Mistress. I require that all teachers report to the school on 26 August and term will resume 2 September._
> 
> _A draft of your lesson plans should be prepared by the time of your arrival._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Severus Snape  
>  Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Samantha looked up to find McGonagall standing in front of her, looking aggrieved, to say the least. Clearly, she did not like the idea of Snape usurping her position at the school _and_ having to be _his_ deputy.

"Surely you saw this coming, Minerva," said Samantha. She stole another glance at the letter. 'Sincerely,' indeed. "Are you going back?"

"Of course," she said, as if there had been no question of it. "Those children need protecting from that – that – _man_."

Samantha winced. Snape had always been verbally horrid to the children, but she found it hard to believe that he would physically harm them. Of course, she found it hard to believe that he would kill Dumbledore and he'd without a doubt done that, hadn't he?

"Well, I shudder to think who else he might dig up to teach Potions. It's dangerous enough as it is, we don't need any _accidents_ to happen."

Samantha carefully folded the letter, slid it back in the envelope, and placed a protective hand on where it sat on her knee. She knew she would be looking at it again later that night. It sounded crazy, but seeing his handwriting, and seeing her _name_ in his handwriting more specifically, made her feel closer to him. Not only did she feel a little insane for it, but somewhat disgusted with herself. She really was going to go mad if she didn't resolve her conflicting feelings for Snape soon.

McGonagall sat down in a chair facing Samantha and watched her closely for a moment. She drew a breath to speak, then, thinking better of it, closed her mouth and stood up. Samantha stood up as well and followed her to the door.

"I'll see you next week," said McGonagall tightly. Samantha simply nodded and shut the door behind her.

Turning back to the room, Samantha pursed her lips and stood in silent thought.

"A draft of my lesson plans," she muttered to herself as she crossed the room to reclaim her seat on the couch. At least she would have something to occupy her mind.

By the end of the week – full of _very_ late nights and equally early mornings – Samantha had rather rough drafts of her lesson plans. He could hardly fault her for it, seeing as how she wasn't allowed to leave the house and the couple she was staying with only had the most basic of potions books.  Though she was sure he would anyway.

The following Monday found Samantha physically ready to return to Hogwarts. Her emotional state, however, was significantly less prepared. She hadn't seen him since the night he’d fled the school with Harry on his heels and she had no idea what she would do – or what _he_ would do, for that matter – when she finally set eyes upon him again.

Given that Snape had not specified the time he wanted _his_ teachers to report to Hogwarts, Samantha apparated to the gates of the once enchanting castle as early as her body had allowed her to. Her stomach churned and her limbs felt weak with nerves on her entire walk up to the castle. An autumn chill had already begun to fall over the Scottish highlands and she pulled her cloak tighter around her body when her shivering – though not entirely owing to the cold – began to affect her ability to walk in a straight line.

Samantha hadn't a clue whether he would be wandering the corridors waiting for teachers to show their faces or if he would remain ensconced in his office (the headmaster's office, she reminded herself) until absolutely necessary. She wasn't sure which she'd prefer. In her mind, she imagined herself capable of brushing him off with a few casual, and preferably caustic, remarks if she happened upon him before the staff meeting. Whatever his feelings toward her were, she wanted to show him that she was ambivalent at best toward his presence.

The entrance doors creaked ominously as she pushed them open. Not knowing if her quarters had been moved to the dungeons, Samantha headed to her first floor quarters from the previous year. The moment she set foot on the first stair, she heard an unmistakable voice emanating, rather characteristically, from the entrance to the dungeons. It would have been comforting in its familiarity, had she not been nearly sick with nerves. Her heart leapt into her throat and she found it nearly impossible to draw a breath. She had heard that voice whispering tender words in her ear, had heard it gasping her name in the throes of passion. Now, however, it was cold and unfeeling.

"Professor Rhodes," Snape said in a soft voice that bore no trace of the emotion it once had.

Samantha stood stock still, one foot still hovering over the next step. She felt as though she could not force herself to turn to face him. Slowly, she allowed her foot to fall to the stair. What felt like hours passed before she was able to steel herself.

" _Headmaster_ ," she answered as she turned to face him, a sneer evident upon her face and in her voice. It hurt her to do it, but it was a necessary evil. A shadow crossed his face as she stared intently into his eyes. Puzzling, though it was, she refused to break eye contact. He looked tired, but the sight of him still made her breath catch in her throat. The last time she'd seen him face to face was in her bed and the thought made her sick to her stomach. He was "the enemy," she was not supposed to think of him in such a manner.

"Are you not teaching Potions?" He asked, stepping into the Entrance Hall.

"I am," she answered simply. She could feel the lump form in her throat at the sight of him. She honestly could not fathom how she would be able to function for the next five minutes, much less an entire school year.

"And are the Potions Master's quarters not located in the dungeons?"

"If it pleases you, _headmaster_ ," she said, the insult clear in her tone, "I would prefer to retain my own quarters. I would assume the Muggle Studies classroom will no longer be of any use and, as such, neither will the quarters near it."

Snape glared at her, his lips set in a thin line.

"It does _not_ please me, _professor_ ," he answered with a sneer. "But if you find yourself incapable of relocating –"

"I do," Samantha interrupted him. Truthfully, she simply could not see herself moving into his former suite. "But I would assume that our – that _the_ lab attached to those rooms will be available to me."

"With supervision," he qualified. Samantha bristled at his stipulation.

"Afraid I'll try to continue my research, then?" Samantha asked as she stomped purposefully toward him. She knew she was playing with fire, but realized as she did so that she didn't care all that terribly much if she pushed his buttons.

"You would do well to remember to whom you are speaking," said Snape, the warning clear in his voice.

Samantha narrowed her eyes, but maintained eye contact with him. She was determined to not back down, despite the torrent of emotion rolling through her and despite her knowledge of Snape's excellent legilimency talents.

"Are you quite finished?" Snape demanded at last, startling Samantha.

She said nothing in response, merely furrowing her brow and huffing before turning on her heel and, though childish, stomping back up the stairs.

The moment Samantha was out of sight and earshot, Snape visibly deflated. He knew seeing her once more would be difficult, but in hindsight, he decided facing Voldemort was infinitely preferable. He would easily take a bout of the _Cruciatus_ over having to make Samantha think that she meant nothing to him.

Snape returned to his office after having spent most of the morning stalking around the dungeons waiting for Samantha to show up. He knew it was rather pathetic of him, but he wanted to make sure that their first meeting occurred in private rather than dinner that evening or the next day's staff meeting. He knew well her temper and questioned her ability to restrain herself from screaming at – and probably cursing – him in front of the entire staff.

He collapsed into his chair, propped his elbows on his knees, and let his head fall into his hands. He took in a deep breath and let his shoulders droop as he exhaled loudly. Dumbledore's portrait was mercifully sound asleep, saving him from discussing Samantha's appearance in the school.

It had been a terrible summer. He had been forced to spend most of it at Malfoy Manor, kowtowing to the insufferable snake he was obliged to call his master. He had had precious few moments to himself, and even most of those were spent trying to help the Order without their notice. It was, perhaps, fortunate in a twisted kind of way that he found both his time and his mind so occupied with the task at hand. Samantha, of course, found her way into his psyche as he slept, or at least tried to. There were dreams that left him aching with a mélange of desire and sadness, while the nightmares were filled with images of her gruesome death at the hands of any one of his Death Eater brethren, including one particular horrifying night when he dreamt that he had killed her himself.

The day he returned to Hogwarts, Dumbledore's portrait had _miraculously_ awoken as soon as Snape had set foot in the headmaster's office. The painting had chattered endlessly for over an hour until Snape simply left. If nothing else, he could at least be comforted by the thought that the room had let him enter. That toad of a woman, Dolores Umbridge, had never been granted access by the castle. Clearly the castle recognized him as a legitimate headmaster, even if he did not do so himself. Phineas Black had been enthusiastic about the development in his own way, which generally consisted of rattling off the list of virtues espoused by Slytherin House that made its members uniquely suited to the post. This, of course, included pointing out the deficiencies in every other house.

After all that had happened, Snape had truthfully never wanted to set foot in the castle again. It had been his home for the vast majority of his life and he had single-handedly sullied it. Just as his memories of Lily had begun to taunt him the moment he returned to Hogwarts for the first time as a teacher, his memories of Samantha – made even worse by the presence of the woman herself – became nothing more than reminders of what could have been.

Well, perhaps not _nothing_ more. In his best moments, he was able to look back on his time with her over the previous year and tell himself that his soul wasn't as black and shattered as it felt. That he was capable of feeling something more than contempt, jealousy, or even a sense of obligation toward a fellow human being. It was something that was quite selfish _and_ quite selfless at the same time. Those "best moments," however, were few and far between.

Dinner that evening had been a quiet, tense, and awkward affair. Samantha had somehow been rewarded with a seat directly next to Snape, who was at the head of the table, while the seat on his other side remained unoccupied. Her only options for conversation were either Snape or Professor Sprout, who, while a very congenial woman, was not exactly an engaging conversationalist. Without distraction, Samantha remained acutely aware of the man seated beside her, even if she refused to let herself look at him.

Snape spent most of the meal eating very little and glaring at everyone. If anyone had been paying close attention to him, which they pointedly were not, they would have noticed that his cold eyes softened almost imperceptibly every time they landed upon Samantha.

As dinner wound down and tea appeared on the table, Samantha gratefully reached for the pot of tea that was placed between she and Snape. Snape had found himself equally in need of a cup and moved to pour his own tea. Their hands reached the pot's handle at the same time and both froze the moment they felt the contact.

The spark, Samantha thought, was apparently still there. She didn't look at Snape, but her eyes remained fixed on their hands. His hand was resting ever so lightly on hers, which had reached the teapot just moments before his. Though they remained still for no more than a mere moment, both Snape and Samantha felt as though minutes had passed before he finally wordlessly retracted his hand.

Later, as she was lying in bed staring at the ceiling, Samantha thought back upon the incident. Perhaps she was imagining it, but in her mind's recollection of events, Snape had let his fingers drag ever so slightly along the back of her hand as he pulled it back. She had cast a glance at him then and saw his black eyes locked, as hers had been, upon their hands. The look in his eyes was one she remembered well. His lips had parted slightly, a faint blush was upon his cheeks; yes, it was the look he'd had on his face when she answered the door and granted his request for…memories.


	23. Seventh Year

The following day found Samantha barricaded in her rooms lest she happen upon Snape. She still had too many conflicting feelings and unanswered questions revolving around him to trust herself around him. It had taken all she had the previous day to neither hex him into oblivion nor throw herself in his arms (were his arms to even be receptive).

As if she hadn't been going crazy enough as it was, his lingering contact from dinner had her mind whirring out of control. Not to mention the havoc it wreaked on her body. She had been vividly reminded of just how sensitive she was to his touch. She could almost feel his fingers on the back of her hand at the mere thought of it.

After deciding to avoid the world for the day, Samantha settled down to her desk with a cup of tea to work on smoothing out her lesson plans. A task made monumentally easier by her easy access to the proper reading materials. Only twenty minutes into her work, however, there was a knock on her door. She threw her quill back into the pot of ink and sighed as she trudged to the door.

"I hope you know the Heads meeting starts in ten minutes," Minerva McGonagall stated briskly the moment Samantha opened the door. Samantha stood staring at her in silence, not quite knowing why she was being told this.

"Wh–," Samantha started, but didn't get a single word out before she was cut off.

"I appointed you Head of Slytherin as interim headmistress. That appointment stands unless our current _esteemed_ headmaster overturns it," she said with a sneer.

It was the first time Samantha had ever seen such an expression cross the woman's face. McGonagall was stern, but she was never contemptuous. Samantha was surprised to find herself offended on Snape's behalf. Well, perhaps surprised wasn't the right way to put it. From the start of the entire debacle, she’d had her doubts about the extent of the man's duplicity and had taken silent offense to every nasty remark and rude gesture that was made at his expense. She wasn't sure if it was because she knew him better than they did or if he was just better able to fool her by making her _think_ she knew him so well. If it _was_ the latter, she guessed she deserved it for being so easily taken in. Of course, that wouldn't stop her from making him very sorry for having used her so if she was ever presented with irrefutable evidence that he was a true and faithful Death Eater.

McGonagall once more eyed her curiously, just as she had done the week before at the safe house. Before the woman could speak however, Samantha began to try to talk her way out of attending the meeting.

"That was a _temporary_ appointment, Minerva," said Samantha, absently recalling how many times she'd had to say that in her first, and what she thought would be her last, Heads meeting. "Surely you don't think the Dark Lord would –"

"The Dark Lord?" McGonagall asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. Samantha grimaced.

"Well, it sounds mildly less childish than 'You Know Who,' doesn't it?"

"It's a bit too reverent for my liking," she answered reproachfully.

"I suppose I just got used to saying that around Severus," Samantha conceded. "He didn't like hearing the name. It was the term he always used, so I guess I just picked it up."

"Well, I hope you didn't pick up anything else from that traitor."

Samantha wasn't sure if she was hurt for her own sake by McGonagall's implication or for her condemnation of Snape. She also wasn't sure what she was supposed to say in response. She felt rather like she was being accused of fraternizing with the enemy.

"I never questioned him then, Minerva," said Samantha quietly, dropping her eyes to the floor. "Love is blind, as they say."

McGonagall's sharp intake of breath startled her. Samantha snapped her head up to find the woman staring at her in a combination of pity, astonishment, and horror. Clearly, no one but Dumbledore and Father Matthews had ever realized how much she cared for him.

The woman seemed to recover from the shock, for she straightened her posture, pursed her lips, and informed Samantha that she would be accompanying her to the meeting. Just in case.

Samantha sighed as she grabbed her teaching robes from the hook near her door and followed McGonagall to the staff room.

The pair were the last two to arrive and all but one chair was taken. With no small amount of disgust, as well as a healthy dose of apprehension, Samantha saw that Amycus Carrow was present and accounted for.

"I was unaware that Professor Rhodes was a head of house," sneered Snape from his seat at the head of the table. Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but, once more, McGonagall began to answer before she could even draw a breath.

" _I_ appointed her Head of Slytherin–"

She was interrupted by Carrow's mirthless cackle.

"That Mudblood-lover? She's a disgrace to our house, ain't she, Snape?" The man said, fully expecting Snape's overwhelming support.

Snape said nothing. Silence reigned in the small room for an uncomfortable length of time. Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall shared looks amongst themselves; both in outrage over what Carrow had said and contempt for the headmaster who remained silent.

Samantha was mortified. She knew she should have resisted McGonagall's demand that she come to the meeting. She considered Carrow to be well beneath her and so his insult barely registered with her, but Snape's condescending sneer did. And it made her feel her age. Samantha was a decade younger than the youngest of the others – that being Snape – and she felt as though she were a student again, presuming to play the part of an adult.

" _As I was saying_ ," McGonagall said at last. "I appointed her as Head of Slytherin, an action which was well within my authority as _interim_ headmistress."

"I was _supposed_ to be _interim_ Head of Slytherin," Samantha muttered.

The look she saw on Snape's face made her do a double take. Could he have possibly…no. But she was sure she saw the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth; almost imperceptible, as if he'd had no control over it. She knew there was a name for that. Yes, that was it: a micro-expression. While living in the Muggle world, Samantha had gotten hooked on forensic shows and had heard the term quite often. Micro-expressions were tiny movements of the face and subtle gestures and postures that most people didn't even know they made. And Snape had made one. He was amused. No one else in the room seemed to have reacted, so she assumed they hadn't caught it. Perhaps she was the only one who'd been looking.

"Yeah, well, we have a _real_ head now, don't we," Carrow said derisively.

"And that would be?" McGonagall asked, ignoring Carrow and staring directly at Snape. She obviously knew the answer, but wanted Snape to say it himself.

"Professor Carrow," Snape said at last, his voice deadly quiet as he met McGonagall's glare. Samantha was disgusted with giving that evil man a proper title he did nothing to deserve. Snape continued, "He will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. His sister, Alecto, will be teaching Magical Hierarchy."

" _Magical Hierarchy?"_ Samantha asked, her brow furrowed. "And what'll we be doing next? Rounding up all the _Mudbloods_ and marching them off to camps?"

And there was another one. The briefest flicker of admission in his eyes. Samantha stared at him in horror. Snape clearly knew he was being read and began speaking before she could begin to voice her objections.

"Now that we have concluded that your presence is no longer required, Professor Rhodes, you are dismissed," said Snape, his voice flat and emotionless.

Samantha locked eyes with him and, for a moment, thought she saw something more in their black depths than the hard glint they'd had in them since the first moment she returned. Finally, she looked away, nodded to McGonagall, and left. There was no use in making a scene.  It would only make her look even more childish than she already felt.

As she returned to her rooms, Samantha wondered why she could see all of these tiny expressions in his face, while everyone else seemed to be none the wiser. Surely he couldn't have survived as long as he had, doing what he did, if he so easily gave away his emotions. Perhaps Carrow was dense, but she knew that Snape would have given himself away to Voldemort five times over if he were so careless around him

And then it hit her. What if he was doing it on purpose? What if he was allowing small glimpses of himself to be shown to her? She felt a little arrogant thinking that he would compromise his position to do so, but it was her only explanation for it. If she was right, what did it mean? Was it all a hoax? He _had_ killed Dumbledore.  That much was true. So what was he playing at? Had he been instructed to try to get back into her good graces so he could turn her? Or was he not the murderous bastard everyone thought him to be and he sincerely wanted her to trust him again?

She really wished she'd been able to resist McGonagall's manhandling. She'd started the day with enough questions to be getting on with; she didn't need any more confusion in her life.

Snape was likewise confused by his actions and perhaps grudgingly impressed by Samantha's ability to read him so well, though it was incredibly unnerving. He had been amused by Samantha's frustration with McGonagall and he got the sense that she'd had to convince more than one person that she had only been temporarily assigned as the Head of Slytherin. Something that he wished he didn't have to change. Snape was pleased that McGonagall had even thought to assign a head to his house and not just leave them to the wolves, and Samantha was exactly what they needed. His position, however, did not allow him to give any of the students what they needed, no matter their house.

Much as he had always complained about the idiocy of his students, it pained him to have to stunt their educational growth. While he knew that his colleagues would do their best to maintain their own academic standards, he also knew that the atmosphere of fear and paranoia would not be conducive to learning. The students would undoubtedly go through the motions, but their minds would be occupied with worry over their own safety and that of their families. At least he had been able to talk Voldemort out of allowing the Carrows to torture students for any and all infractions they may commit. A small consolation, indeed, as he truly doubted how long that would last or if they would even meet with any punishment should they decide to torture a Muggleborn or two.

Now that was something else he would have to watch out for. The news of the forthcoming Muggleborn Registration Commission had only just been announced, but the full extent of the commission's power had not yet been revealed. Not to the general public, at any rate. Snape knew what was coming and was doing all he could to stop it. Once more, Snape cursed Dumbledore for putting him in the position in which he now found himself. He had found ways to influence the Order over the summer, but now with half of them in the castle themselves, it would be a much more difficult task to accomplish.

Perhaps his subconscious was aware of the impossibility of his situation and that was why he was allowing himself to be read by the one person he desperately wanted back in his life. If he were able to pass information to Samantha, she was intelligent enough that the other Order members wouldn't question her ability to make educated guesses or formulate plans. It was a dangerous game to be playing, given that there were Death Eaters walking the halls as well. Not to mention that if Samantha was suspected to be receiving information from him, the Order would likely brand her a traitor as well. Snape could convince Voldemort that he was misleading the Order, but his information would be useless if the Order didn't trust his informant.

It was also, he was quite aware, an entirely selfish desire to alleviate his loneliness. He had gotten by in the previous two decades simply because he hadn't been entirely aware of what he was missing. But after spending as much time as he had with Samantha, even before they had formally entered into a romantic relationship, he keenly felt the loss of true companionship. The solitude he had once so richly cherished had become yet another cross to bear.

Snape only just managed to restrain himself from heaving a great sigh in the middle of the meeting. He pulled his attention back from the ether to find that McGonagall was, unsurprisingly, locked in an argument with Carrow over the proper methods of discipline. After listening to Carrow pontificate on the merits of torture, Snape stepped in.

"I do believe, Amycus, that this mattered has already been settled, as you well know."

McGonagall turned to him expectantly while Carrow slouched in his seat, knowing he was overruled.

"There is to be," Snape continued, "no torture of the students. We will maintain our standard disciplinary measures as we discussed earlier this month. I will thank you to remind your sister of this decision."

Carrow gave no sign of assent.

"Have I made myself clear?" Snape asked sharply, feeling as though he was reprimanding a student. Yet again, he mourned the loss of Samantha as Head of Slytherin.

"Yeah, alright," the man grudgingly answered.

"If that is all?" Snape asked, obviously meaning it as a rhetorical question. "Then we are finished here. I want lesson plans on my desk by tomorrow evening."

McGonagall scoffed at the implication that her lesson plans were in some way deficient and needed correcting by Snape, of all people.

Before anyone else even stirred, Snape stood and swept out of the room. Though the room's other occupants likely took it as a sign of derision, in truth, Snape needed to escape from their presence. For most of his adult life, he had not cared what people thought of him. Suddenly, however, he was unable to cope with their accusatory glares and thinly veiled references to his traitorous acts. For once, he wanted to show them that he wasn't the villain they all thought him to be. Though he had never been well thought of, he had, in their eyes, at least one redeeming characteristic: Dumbledore trusted him. Now that that had been taken from him by the man himself, he was forced to make those who had placed their trust in him think the very worst. Snape had once, many years ago now, made Dumbledore promise to not reveal what Dumbledore had called the best of him, but this was not the alternative he'd had in mind at the time. He only hoped he was strong enough to keep himself from simply giving in to his past and letting the chips fall where they may.

Not that Dumbledore's portrait would allow that to happen very easily.

"Ah, Severus, how was your meeting?" The late headmaster asked in an annoyingly cheery tone. Snape glared up at him and threw himself into his chair.

"Right. That well," the portrait observed.

"The Carrows are not going to be easily controlled where the students are concerned," said Snape in a low voice.

"You will do your best. I have faith in you."

"At least someone does," he said quietly.

Dumbledore's portrait regarded the dark man for a few silent moments.

"Samantha was at the meeting, then?" Dumbledore asked.  It was a rather astute observation for a painting. "Severus, we've discussed this already. No one must know."

"I need an informant, Albus. I need to know what the Order is doing and I need someone to pass information to them. She is the only one who would give me a chance," argued Snape. "I could convince the Dark Lord –"

"Severus," Dumbledore said, the warning clear in his voice.

Snape let the argument die, but was by no means ready to concede the point. He didn't have to let a bloody portrait dictate his every action.

The next day's full staff meeting was no less tense. His announcement of the Carrow siblings and their appointments was met with outright hostility that he was, fortunately, able to quell without a word. His colleagues may not have liked him before, but now that they saw him as a murderer, a healthy dose of fear had been injected into the mix. After all, if he could kill Albus Dumbledore and get away with it, what was stopping him from doing the same to them? As a result, a glare that used to intimidate now had the ability to terrify. There was a time in his life, he was sure, that he would have looked upon such a talent as a gift. That time was not now.

Snape was rather unnerved by how closely Samantha was watching him. He was trying as hard as he could to not acknowledge her or allow himself to give away any of his underlying emotions. With both of the Carrows present, not to mention the entire staff, he was sure she wouldn't be the only one reading him like an open book.

At the end of the meeting, he found himself repeating his _request_ for lesson plans. From the groans he heard upon doing so, one would think he was telling one of his classes that he wanted them to write an essay.

That was something else he would have to get used to: not teaching classes. That was, essentially, the only thing he'd been doing for over a decade. It would be odd not being in a classroom day in and day out, and he wasn't yet sure if he liked the idea of it. He wouldn't miss the grading, that was certain. Though he had, at times, found slashing through students' essays in scarlet ink rather cathartic, he now had to make sure that those same students stayed alive and intact for foreseeable future. His efforts to protect his staff and students while at the same time making them think he wasn't above inflicting lasting physical pain on them would be a precarious balancing act. While Dumbledore was headmaster, no one truly feared what he would do. And now they had to. He had to make sure of it.

Samantha had, indeed, been watching Snape like a hawk for the whole of the meeting. She'd sat as far away as she could, but she'd consciously chosen a seat that would give her an unobstructed view of his face. He still looked tired. No, more than that. He was weary. It was more than sleep that he needed. Samantha knew that the headmaster duties were likely tiring, but even Dumbledore never looked exhausted and nearly a century stood between the two wizards. He had often been tired during their time together, but he had also been spying on top of teaching classes, research, and acting as Head of Slytherin.

He had the same look about him now, but worse. If he was ostensibly no longer spying, then why did he still seem to bear the look of someone suffering from mental and emotional fatigue? If he were a cold-blooded killer, dedicated to the cause of his master – who had just succeeded in overthrowing the Ministry and Hogwarts, no less – surely he would be haughty and triumphant. She could see those emotions on his face, but they were just that. They were on his face, but it was clear to her that they went no deeper than that.

Samantha felt, well, she didn't really know what she felt. She knew that she could feel a pull at her heart every time she watched him as someone else spoke, when he thought no one would be looking. The mask seemed to slip ever so slightly, and she could see the turmoil underneath. He was stressed to his breaking point and she had actually had to force herself to simply leave after the meeting was over, rather than stay behind to try to talk to him.

When Samantha returned to her rooms, she sent her lesson plans to Snape via school owl and resigned herself to waiting for his response, and she was sure there would be one. The man had been the Potions Master for fifteen years and she knew that he would find something wrong with her lesson plans. Or invent something wrong with them. Samantha knew she'd been thorough and that, objectively, they were perfectly acceptable for the time that she’d been given to put them together. But she hadn't simply copied his plans, to which she'd had access, and she knew he would have something to say about it.

True to form, she received an owl from him the very next morning _requesting_ her presence in his office directly after lunch, which she knew then that she would not be eating. Samantha was glad that she at least hadn't received the owl until after breakfast, or she wouldn't have eaten that meal either.

Samantha took her time getting to Snape's office, trying to quell the rising nausea as well as force her limbs to propel her forward. She murmured the password he had supplied her with in his owl – "Ashwinder" – and allowed the spiral staircase to carry her to his door.

"Enter," came his voice from within just as she'd raised her fist to knock. She took a deep, steadying breath before grabbing the handle.

The office was, more or less, just as she'd remembered it. Dumbledore's personal effects had been removed – his gadgets and Fawkes' perch were most conspicuous in their absence. The only other difference was that Dumbledore's portrait now hung among the pantheon of former headmasters. He looked to be asleep, but Samantha was almost certain he was faking it.

"Headmaster," said Samantha evenly. She was met with the tiniest quirk of an eyebrow.

"Sit," Snape said as he gestured to a seat in front of his desk.

Rather than object to his rudeness, Samantha simply sat and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing. She knew it was likely nothing as she had seen him use this tactic on students to put them on edge before he spoke with them. Finally, he looked up to meet her eyes. He held her gaze for a moment before looking back down.

"I have your lesson plans," he started. "I have – ah – concerns."

"Regarding?" Samantha asked, almost amused by how well she'd predicted his response.

"Do you not think you will be letting your NEWT students off easy?" He asked. Samantha was surprised to find that he sounded positively…professional. He wasn't sneering at her; he wasn't treating her like an inferior. He seemed genuinely concerned for the educational welfare of the students. Now that was interesting. She decided to be absolutely truthful about her reasoning in simplifying what had been quite challenging lessons during Snape's tenure.

"I know from reading your lesson plans that mine don't require as strenuous an effort on the part of the students. But, I am also aware that the students' mental states are not going to be the same this year," she said. She bit her lip in thought before continuing, "And that will be especially true for the older students. I want to challenge them, but I don't want them all to fail because they are understandably incapable of keeping it together."

Samantha wondered if she'd gone too far, though it wasn't as if she had to hide her loyalties. Snape knew for a fact that she was an Order member and even if he had renounced his loyalties to the organization, he couldn't really expect her to completely ignore the changes that occurred in their world over the past three months.

He sat still for a moment, his forefinger tracing his lips. Samantha could not help but stare at the path his finger made, vividly remembering exactly what it felt like to kiss those lips. She knew he must have noticed the blush in her cheeks when she saw the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes. She quickly lowered her eyes before she embarrassed herself any further.

Snape drew a breath to speak.

"I have similar concerns," he admitted, much to Samantha's surprise. "Don't think I don't realize the effects this war will have on their ability to focus. They are bad enough in the best of times."

Samantha felt some of the tension leave her body at his response.

"However," he continued, "I don't want to let loose a generation of dunderheads who don't know one end of their wand from the other."

"Surely you don't think that a slight modification to your difficult in the best of times syllabus would render them incapable of functioning in wizarding society," Samantha countered. She felt as though she might be treading in dangerous water in disagreeing with him. But he continued to show no sign of anger.

"I don't disagree with modifications, Sa – Professor Rhodes,” Snape said. Samantha was sure her heart had stopped as he'd started to say her name. He continued as she attempted to gather her wits. "But I feel that you have perhaps simplified the curriculum too much."

"And what would you suggest?" Samantha asked, still trying to calm herself.

She saw the change come over him immediately. His eyes hardened and his lips thinned. The transformation was so sudden that it almost seemed forced. As if he'd just realized his mistake and was trying to make up for having almost called her by her given name.

"I would suggest, _professor_ ," he began, his voice cold. "That you revise your lesson plans and present me with another copy by this evening. I haven't the time to correct your mistakes."

Samantha tried very hard to not be hurt or surprised by his sudden change in demeanor, but failed rather miserably. He had lulled her into a false sense of security at the start of their conversation only to pull the rug out from under her. She straightened in her seat, jutting her chin out proudly.

"Of course, _headmaster_ ," she said, matching his tone as she stood and moved to the door. "If that is all?"

Before he could say a word, she spun on her heel, slammed the door behind her and rushed down the stone steps and out to the corridor. She knew she was being a little too overly paranoid in thinking that he would follow her, but her feet, nonetheless, took her swiftly back to her rooms.

Snape remained seated in silence long after the echo of her departure had died. He slouched back in his seat and let out a deep sigh.

"Severus."

"I don't want to hear it, old man," said Snape without even glancing at Dumbledore's portrait as he stood and walked purposefully toward the nearest exit. Moments later, the door slammed for the second time, causing the disturbed portraits to grumble as their frames swayed back and forth before settling once more.

Snape was not looking forward to the uproar he was sure would come the moment the announcement of his taking the post of headmaster hit the _Daily Prophet_. Somehow the news had been kept out of the press until the day before the students were scheduled to return to Hogwarts. Even with the lack of notice, there was no doubt that there would be a large number of children whose parents would not let them board the train that would take them off to a boarding school run by a murdering Death Eater. He couldn't blame them. If he'd had children, he would probably have done the same thing. Not that he would ever have the chance now.

Now those were the thoughts that needed to be kept well out of the forefront of his mind. He didn't need any more mistakes like he'd made with Samantha.  He couldn't let himself think about how, had things not turned out the way they did, he would have considered marriage for her sake. He had to admit he'd never thought twice about having children, if only because he never thought he would be put in a position to make that decision, but he found himself wondering about the possibility had, as the refrain went, things not turned out the way they did.

All too soon, the second of September was upon them and the train would shortly be arriving in Hogsmeade to deposit what was surely a large number of terrified children.

Samantha spent most of the day in her new classroom, preparing for the next day's lessons. She hadn't ventured down to the dungeons much in the week she'd been back at the school. There were far too many memories that she had no desire to dwell on. She hadn't even dared step foot in Snape's old office.

She did not emerge from the classroom until the last moment before dinner. Stopping by her rooms to change clothes and retrieve her teaching robes, Samantha was soon making her way to the Great Hall. Students were trickling in; all of them noticeably more subdued than they had been at the previous Sorting Feast she'd attended.

Samantha glanced up at the head table to see that Snape had not yet arrived. Not knowing quite where to sit, she chose the chair next to McGonagall's empty seat that had once belonged to Snape.

Snape entered quietly through the staff entrance and took his seat at the center of the table. He seemed to be trying to do so without drawing any attention to himself. It was all for naught, of course, for the moment he seated himself, heads swiveled in all directions to face him. Samantha could hear the mutters of the students and, though she couldn't understand the words, the tone was enough to tell her just what they thought of their new headmaster.

There were a rather pathetic number of students sorted. It was obvious that the younger children had been apprised by the older students of the events surrounding their headmaster, as their faces clearly showed their fear. For once, it wasn't just nerves about having to sit on the stool and have the old – not to mention rude, Samantha recalled – hat placed on their heads to decide their future. No, these children's eyes did not even see the three-legged stool and the ragged Sorting Hat. Their wide, fearful eyes were fixed on the severe features of the black-haired man who had murdered the kindly and revered old wizard who had once sat in that chair.

Samantha watched Snape for a reaction to the children's undisguised horror at his presence. His face was a complete mask until the last child was sorted. As the hat proclaimed that the student belonged to Slytherin, many of the students from other houses jeered at the poor child, who didn't look as though he wanted to sit at the table toward which McGonagall had steered him. It was then that Samantha saw everything she needed to see. It was only momentary, but she was sure of what she saw.

Severus Snape was ashamed.


	24. Complicated Contemplation

_Samantha watched Snape for a reaction to the children's undisguised horror at his presence. His face was a complete mask until the last child was sorted. As the hat proclaimed that the student belonged to Slytherin, many of the students from other houses jeered at the poor child, who didn't look as though he wanted to sit at the table toward which McGonagall had steered him. It was then that Samantha saw everything she needed to see. It was only momentary, but she was sure of what she saw._

_Severus Snape was ashamed._

Samantha went to bed that night with the implications of what she'd seen at dinner running through her head. She was reticent to look at it as incontrovertible proof that he was still loyal to the Light. House loyalties, after all, were a powerful thing and it was possible that there was nothing more to it than that. And yet, could it be that he was ashamed of what _he_ had done to bring such scorn upon Slytherin House? That would certainly be encouraging, if heartbreaking all the same.

She sighed to herself, trying to force the thoughts from her mind so that she could get some rest before her first day of classes. Thankfully, she only had to contend with the younger students and wouldn't have to face the elder Slytherins, who would most object to her presence, until the end of the week. At least she could rest easy in the knowledge that none of them were aware that she had ever been their Head of House; temporary or otherwise.

Breakfast was, just as dinner had been, a subdued affair. For once, it wasn't entirely due to the early hour. Not even the Slytherin table seemed particularly social and they, supposedly, had nothing to fear from the new headmaster and his two cronies. Snape sipped coffee in silence as he read the morning edition of the _Daily Prophet_. Every line or two, he would lift his head and scan his eyes over the house tables, a frown fixed firmly on his face. Any student who had been brave enough to look at him, quickly found their plates very interesting.

McGonagall sat stiffly between Samantha and Snape, refusing to even look at the man to her right. Samantha, like the students, wasn't in the mood for talking, and so kept her gaze fixed on her plate, though she had no appetite to speak of. She barely managed to eat a piece of toast as she sipped her tea. Her anxiety was due only in part to nerves over the first day of term.  The atmosphere in the hall was tense, as though every man, woman, and child were on the edge of their seat, waiting for something to break the tension. Its weight was nearly palpable.

Finally, when she felt as though she'd put in enough of an appearance to satisfy, she left for the dungeons. Samantha only just fought the urge to greet Snape in some way as she passed him. Though the students might distrust her because of her ties to Slytherin, she knew that the faculty – especially those in the Order – would surely question her loyalties if she were to show anything more than ambivalence toward Snape. McGonagall was already suspicious of her, she didn't need to add any fuel to the fire.

Though Samantha would never have guessed it, Snape had felt – and fought – the same urge. He could feel the breeze created by her passing on the back of his neck and the scent of her filled his nostrils. Keeping his head down, he allowed his eyes to follow her until she left through the staff door. After Samantha left, he felt no need to remain and so swept down the center aisle toward the main doors. He could feel the eyes of the students upon him as he walked. The hatred and betrayal in them was plainly evident. They were the same looks that were directed toward the Slytherin table. His house had never been particularly valued by the others and it only made for one more reason to hate himself that what he'd done had only made it worse. The look on the child's face during the Sorting Feast the previous evening had nearly done him in. Snape wasn't usually one for sympathy, but his actions were the direct cause of the derisive jeers that had been hurled at the boy the moment he'd been sorted.

Snape stalked back to his office, barely noticing the students who scampered out of his path. His mind was busy thinking about Samantha and all that had changed in one short year. For the first time in fifteen years, he was not preparing to teach his first class in his dungeon classroom. He wasn't even living in the dungeons anymore. He could only be glad that Amycus Carrow had not taken it upon himself to move into his old quarters. Snape had not quite taken the time to move all of his belongings to the headmaster's quarters and he certainly didn't want that idiot snooping around his possessions. True, Snape had felt reasonably sure that Samantha would be taking his rooms, but he had thought that, perhaps, leaving some of his things behind would give him an excuse to see her without the eyes of the castle upon them. Unsurprisingly, he had no such luck.

The day was spent on mindless paperwork while he divided his thoughts between Samantha and how he was going to go about saving the entire Muggleborn population of Britain. No pressure, indeed.

"I'm sure you understand now why I spent so much time wandering the castle," Dumbledore's voice cut into his thoughts.

Snape glanced up at him for a moment before turning his attention back to the parchment in front of him, though he could say in all honesty that he really didn't care how many quaffles Hooch thought she needed.

"Because your portrait pestered you incessantly?" Snape asked morosely. The portrait snorted.

"You know I mean well, Severus," said Dumbledore in a placating tone.

Snape sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"I need help, Albus. More than a painting can give me," he said quietly. "I can't…" Snape trailed off, sighing once more. He felt like he was doing that a lot these days. "I can't do this."

"You will compromise your position, not to mention your life _and_ hers," Dumbledore answered sternly. Snape glared at him. "That never worked when I was alive, it certainly isn't going to have an effect on me now."

"You are a portrait," Snape growled. "You don't feel _anything_. You have no idea what this is doing to me, Albus."

"Perhaps…" Dumbledore started in a thoughtful tone. "Perhaps it might have been better if you had not sought to develop a relationship with the woman in the first place."

Snape was absolutely gobsmacked. He didn't know whether he wanted to rip the portrait from the wall or break down into tears.

"Did I not just say that you feel nothing? You would never have said that before – before you died," Snape said in a low, angry voice. "She's the only reason I've made it this far."

He didn't particularly like baring his soul to centuries of former Hogwarts headmasters, but Snape knew that he had to convince Dumbledore that letting Samantha in on his plans (or at least his innocence) would not end in ruin.

Before he could let the portrait respond, however, Snape stood abruptly from his desk and rushed from the room. He was not used to being cooped up all day with only his thoughts – and occasionally Dumbledore's interruptions – to keep him company. It almost made him miss his days spent in the classroom. Now, though, he simply did not want to be in the castle. Period. There were too many memories. Even now, as he stood in the Entrance Hall, he vividly recalled the embraces that he and Samantha had shared there on Christmas Eve. For some, that might have been a positive memory. For Snape, though, it only reminded him of what he was missing.

For a moment, he entertained the idea that perhaps Dumbledore had been right. Would he be better off now if Samantha had never entered the picture? He pushed the thought away. If nothing else, Lily would still be occupying his every waking thought. If it wasn't one woman, it was another. Snape almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

Snape's musings brought him, unbeknownst even to himself, to the seventh floor corridor, facing Barnabas the Barmy. In retrospect, he thought it terribly unwise to roam the castle without staying on high alert, what with the vast majority of the castle's occupants – including his staff – ready and willing to kill him if given half the chance. He turned around to see that the door to the Room of Requirement had already appeared. Funny, that. Snape knew he’d been preoccupied, but he was sure he would have noticed if he'd walked up and down the same corridor three times. Perhaps the castle was simply more attuned to the feelings of the headmaster. The thought was a little unnerving, but could prove useful in the future.

Thinking it best to investigate just what it was the castle thought he needed, he crossed the hall and grasped the doorknob. He took a steadying breath before opening the door.

Surprise was not quite what he was feeling. Confusion would perhaps have been a better term. The room was, well, exactly as he'd left it. Snape hadn't stepped foot into the Room of Requirement since the night of Samantha's experiment with Lupin. Samantha had, after that night, continued to stay with Lupin for each of his transformations. But once Snape had been assured that there was no way Lupin was getting out and that he, in fact, didn't stay in his wolf form for very long, he did not accompany her. Especially after she'd yelled at him for trying to hijack her research. She'd been very clear – and had used rather colorful language – in letting him know just what she thought of his "interference."

Not that he'd have to worry about that now, given Lupin's fate. Whatever Snape's personal feelings toward the man, he had, at the very least, felt sorrow on Samantha's behalf. He knew that she and Lupin were friends and that she would no doubt blame herself for his death. Greyback likely knew it, too. In all truth, Greyback had been, well, dying to kill Lupin for years. He simply found his chance and took it and, being the sick and twisted kind of creature that he was, used the opportunity to twist the knife in Samantha's heart as well.

Snape looked around the room to see that it was not quite as _he_ had left it, but how Samantha had. She had clearly found that her belongings would not be disturbed if left behind, and so hadn't taken much care in gathering up her ink, quills, and parchment.

Snape approached the large wooden table that dominated the center of the room and lightly ran a finger along one of the discarded quills lying on its surface. It had obviously been used fairly well, ink stained the entire shaft and the nib was blunt and completely useless. He smirked. He could well imagine her hunched over her well-worn notebook, scribbling nearly indecipherable notes for hours on end. She would have gotten annoyed with the worn quill and would have thrown it on the table in a huff before plucking a new one from the bundle she tended to carry with her.

He could also vividly imagine her stretching her back after all her hours of work. She would roll her head from side to side and then stretch her arms over her head, moaning as the tense muscles in her back found relief. Snape glanced at the corner of the room, where he knew the small bed to be. Apparently house elves could not get to this room, because its covers were thrown back and the pillows still bore a slight indentation of its last occupant – Samantha.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, his legs began carrying him to the bed. He sat on the edge and turned to run his hand over the dip in the pillow. While his mind was busy reminding him of how very pathetic and mawkish his actions were, his body was busy reminding him of what it had been like to share a bed with her. In an effort to regain his senses, Snape grasped the edge of the bed and shut his eyes tight as he took a number of deep breaths.

He stood resolutely, though he still had no intention of leaving. Snape walked back to the table and sat in the chair that had obviously been Samantha's. He flicked through the bits of parchment she'd left behind, all of it filled with what she'd obviously decided were irrelevant notes or just plain bad ideas. Finding nothing of interest, he picked up a quill and twirled it in his fingers, as he thought back to the evening they'd spent holed up in this very space. He'd stood just behind this chair, had leaned over it to touch her hand. Snape could feel the blood suffuse his cheeks as he replayed the scene in his head.

It also reminded him of what he'd done at dinner the night before the students returned. He had replayed that scene in his head, too. It was only now that he realized the most glaringly important detail: she hadn't pulled away. She'd seemed surprised, but she wasn't disgusted. If she'd been anyone else, they probably would have slapped him – or worse – after he slid his hand along theirs. But she hadn't. Perhaps he was embellishing the memory, but he could swear she had even raised her fingers just the slightest bit to prolong the contact. That could all be wishful thinking, and it probably was. Snape stood, tucked the quill into his pocket, and made for the door.

Looking back down on the table once more, however, Snape spotted his name on a piece of parchment. He slid it out from beneath the pile and saw that it was certainly his surname written in Samantha's hand, but that was definitely not his first name. Samantha Snape, it read. Upon further investigation of the scrap, he found that it had been written more than once. She had signed the name more than a few times over the page, all in different styles. Had she honestly engaged in such juvenile behavior? While she was supposed to be occupied with serious academic pursuits, no less? Still, it was…endearing. Here was a woman of immense intelligence, a leader in her discipline, and she had spent what seemed to be quite a bit of time trying out a new signature in the hopes that it would one day be her name. However childish it made her look, the thought warmed him. And it also helped him make up his mind once and for all.

He would tell her. Well, he wouldn't tell her, per se, but he would do everything he could to help her figure it out on her own. Dumbledore be damned, Samantha seemed to already have her doubts as to his guilt and the world hadn't yet fallen apart at the seams. If she didn't hate him, if he could get her to trust him again, he knew he'd be able to survive this hell. Emotionally, at least, as there were no guarantees someone wouldn't kill him before this thing was over. Nevertheless, the thought alone that Samantha might not want to murder him in his sleep was comforting; pathetic and morbid, to be sure, but comforting all the same. He still had a chance at achieving some semblance of sanity.

Samantha, on the other hand, was sure she would lose all hope of sanity by the end of the week. Much to her surprise, it wasn't the Slytherins who treated her like an enemy. No, it was every other house. Apparently the residents of the serpent's den had decided that since Samantha was a Slytherin after all and she was now teaching Potions, she was just barely acceptable, though she was still sure they'd stage a coup if she were their head. The Gryffindors, however, were not so kind. They weren't engaging in open rebellion, but they looked at her much like they looked at both Snape and the Carrows. In addition to the blatant condemnation from the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws were suspicious and the Hufflepuffs seemed frightened (it probably didn't help that she had always had a penchant for black clothing and had noticed fairly recently that her teaching robes had the oddest habit of billowing when she walked; most unusual). They all seemed to have forgotten what subject she'd taught the previous year. She was beginning to get a taste of what Snape had endured throughout what she supposed was his entire teaching career, not to mention the way he was treated by the students, and, really, the rest of the wizarding world, after all that had transpired.

By the time Samantha dismissed her last class for the day, all she wanted to do was collapse into her bed and not wake up until this bloody war was over. Unfortunately, professors were obliged to attend dinner, particularly during the first week of term. As such, Samantha trudged wearily up to her rooms to freshen up before dinner. She smelled of fumes – some not so pleasant, thanks to inept students – and potions ingredients. And her hair, well, she didn't even want to know what it looked like. It likely resembled Granger's unsightly mess. If Snape's hair wasn't so lank to begin with, she rather thought he would have had the same problems. The image that swam into her mind's eye nearly made her laugh out loud. Even the Snape in her head scowled at her amusement.

When she walked into the Great Hall, Samantha knew that something was wrong. Given how many noses were buried in the _Daily Prophet_ evening edition, it had to have been a very large something. As she walked up the aisle, she saw groups of students huddled around those who had copies and every staff member was likewise engaged. Snape's face looked thunderous.

"Minerva, what's happened?" Samantha asked quietly as she sat down.

"Potter, Weasley, and Granger broke into the Ministry this morning."

"What?" Samantha shouted in a high-pitched voice. No one paid her any mind; it had come to be a common reaction as the Great Hall filled. "Of all the idiotic…"

"They were able to set free all of the Muggleborns who were being held for questioning by the Commission," McGonagall whispered, trying to move her chair as far away from Snape as she could.

Samantha glanced over McGonagall's shoulder to find Alecto Carrow speaking animatedly to Snape, who didn't seem entirely impressed with her. He looked as though he was trying to block her out in order to concentrate on his own thoughts. What those were, Samantha hadn't the faintest clue. That he was angry didn't give her very much to go on. He could be angry with the three morons for thwarting the plans of his master just as much it could be because of their stupidity for putting themselves in such danger. For her part, she could not even conceive of anything important enough to do something so monumentally stupid. She knew with certainty, however, that they hadn't gatecrashed the Ministry to release a group of Muggleborns. That was sure to have been an afterthought. What, then, could have possibly possessed them?

It must have had something to do with why they'd been so secretive over the summer. But surely Dumbledore couldn't have meant for them to break into the Ministry. Certainly not now that it was under the control of Voldemort. Had they really been planning this particular _adventure_ all along? Samantha could not believe that Granger had been in on the scheme. Those boys were going to get her killed one day.

More than anything, Samantha wanted to know what Snape thought about the situation. In addition to giving her some insight into whose side he was really on, he would likely have a better idea than she why The Brainless Trio would be so foolhardy. But how on earth was she to get him alone to ask him?

Then it came to her: the lab. Snape had been adamant that she was only allowed in the lab with supervision and she was certain that he meant his own. Surely Madam Pomfrey would need a potion or two for the infirmary. As Samantha thought through her plan, she saw Snape stand abruptly, effectively silencing Carrow, and begin to make his way out of the hall. 'It's now or never,' Samantha thought as she mentally steeled herself. She stood and caught up with him before he made it around the head table.

"Headmaster," Samantha greeted him in a neutral tone. Snape turned and looked down his hooked nose at her.

"Professor," he responded in an equally bland voice.

"I wish to use the lab as soon as possible. Madam Pomfrey has need of a few potions that I would like to brew before I have to start my grading," said Samantha. She was careful to not sound too impatient.

"And why was I not informed that her stores are lacking?"

"I _am_ the Potions Mistress, Headmaster," she answered carefully. "But I am not aware of protocol regarding these matters. Was she supposed to direct her request to you first?"

Samantha was not lying when she admitted her ignorance and she hoped that it would appease Snape. His face was severe and he was not giving anything away, so Samantha was at a loss to judge his reaction.

Snape cast his eyes around the Great Hall before answering her.

"Thursday evening after dinner," he said at last. It was not a request.

"Thank you, sir," Samantha said with a nod. He answered with a noise that was some kind of cross between a hum and grunt and turned on his heel. Perfect. She could get him alone. Now all she needed to do was tell Madam Pomfrey that her stores were low and she needed restocking.

The next day, Samantha suffered through yet another torturous set of classes, made all the worse by the presence of one Ginevra Weasley in her NEWT class. It seemed to be the little firebrand's goal to foment dissent amongst her classmates. Samantha had had no other choice but to give her detention after her third outburst. There was a fair amount of grumbling from her fellow Gryffindors, but it was quelled after Samantha threatened them all with detentions. She was certainly not making it any easier on herself in doing so, but she wasn't about to let them rebel when they were using such volatile ingredients. She needed to have order if only to preserve life and limb. They, however, did not seem to see it that way. Dunderheads.

At precisely eight o'clock that evening, Ginny came stomping into the Potions classroom. Well, at least she was on time. Samantha finished grading the assignment she was working on and looked up to find the girl scowling at her. Samantha simply raised an eyebrow in response.

"Would you like a second detention, Miss Weasley?" She asked smoothly. The girl scoffed, but settled her face into a more neutral expression. "Good."

"What am I to be doing, professor?" Ginny asked in a colorless voice.

"Scrubbing tables. I'm afraid I have quite a few incompetent third years," said Samantha in a mocking tone. Samantha knew she would only make it worse by talking to her in such a manner, but the girl's attitude was aggravating. "No magic."

"Fine," she answered tersely.

"Excuse me, Miss Weasley? I don't believe I heard you."

Samantha didn't see her face, but she was fairly certain that Ginny rolled her eyes before turning back to her.

"Yes, professor," she bit out.

"Good. Off you go," Samantha dismissed her as she turned back to her grading.

The noise that the girl was making, most of it unnecessary, as she went about her business made grading a rather useless endeavor. After watching her furiously scrub tables for half an hour, Samantha spoke up.

"I'm not your enemy, Miss Weasley," she said in a quiet voice.

Ginny's head snapped up. There were a number of emotions marching across her face, but confusion and incredulity seemed to be battling it out for supremacy.

"You're a Slytherin," she answered simply and perhaps too boldly. Lord, but these children needed to start seeing the shades of gray in life.

"And? Do you honestly think every Slytherin who has ever walked these halls turned out all bad?" Samantha asked patiently.

"But you and Snape –" Ginny shut her mouth with a snap, her eyes wide with the knowledge that she'd said something she shouldn't have.

"I know what you were going to say, Miss Weasley," said Samantha. "I overheard your little gossip session with Miss Granger this summer. You should have listened to her. She was right."

"Right about what?" Ginny asked, her embarrassment beginning to dissipate.

"I didn't suspect him."

Samantha didn't know what had possessed her to get into such a conversation with the girl, but if it meant that her classroom wouldn't get blown to kingdom come because the House of Gryffindor had a grudge against her, so be it.

"But how? He's such a – such a –"

"Git?" Samantha asked with a smirk. Ginny smiled guiltily. "Do you not remember what else Miss Granger told you?"

Samantha regretted asking when she saw the spots of pink appear on her cheeks. She'd forgotten that Hermione had relayed the story of walking in on the two of them.

" _Not that_ ," said Samantha quickly. "Something as pertains to Mr. Potter and yourself, perhaps?"

"Oh," she said in a small voice. "But –"

"I'm not asking that you understand why or how I feel – or felt – the way I did, just that you understand why I never saw him the way the rest of you do." Samantha hoped that Ginny didn't catch her slip. It was no good telling her that she wasn't her enemy if the girl thought that Samantha still loved him.

"Okay," said Ginny, still sounding unsure.

"Do you still think I've turned?" Samantha asked in a quiet, but forceful, voice.

"No," she answered, apparently convinced.

"Good. Now don't tell anyone."

"What? Why?" Ginny asked, just as confused as she had been.

"Let me put it another way. If you start spreading this around, I will have as much or more trouble with the Slytherins as I've had with you lot. Perhaps you could start with not supporting rebellion in my classroom?" Samantha tried not to sound like she was pleading. "And I would advise not trying anything around the Carrows. I don't trust them."

Ginny looked defiant for a moment before realizing what Samantha was telling her. The thought of torture took some of the wind out of her sails.

"I think I can manage it," she said at last.

"Manage it, who?" Samantha asked, sounding rather more good-natured about it than Snape ever did.

"I think I can manage it, _professor_ ," she repeated with a lopsided grin.

"Good, now get back to work. Those tables aren't going to scrub themselves."

Ginny made to protest, but Samantha cut her off.

"Just because I'm not a Death Eater out to destroy all that you hold dear, does not mean I'll let you get away with disturbing my class as you did this afternoon. Honestly, puking pastilles? Did your brothers put you up to that?"

"I might have gotten them in the post," she answered slyly.

"Just be glad I didn't make you clean _that_ up without magic," said Samantha in a stern voice. Ginny looked both properly chastened and fairly sick at the idea.

"Yes, professor," Ginny responded dutifully before retrieving the bucket and scrub brush. The evening went significantly more smoothly – and quietly – after their little chat.

During her free period the following day, Samantha headed up to the hospital wing to find out if she'd actually given Snape a legitimate reason to use the lab that evening. As luck would have it, the infirmary's stores of Calming Draught were being depleted at an alarming rate. It was hardly surprising, however, given the nearly unbearable levels of stress that were weighing down on all and sundry.

In fact, Samantha felt like she herself might need a shot of Calming Draught before heading down to the lab that evening. Just to be on the safe side, she commandeered a bottle before returning to her classroom.

At the end of her classes, in which Samantha noticed that the Gryffindors were significantly less troublesome, she visited the storeroom before dinner to retrieve some ingredients. She knew Snape would have no problem insulting her for being ill prepared.

Dinner was marginally louder than it had been over the previous two evenings, but it certainly had not reached the boisterous levels of years gone by. To be honest, Samantha wasn't entirely upset about that. The underlying reason for their quiet was, of course, distressing, but it was nice to eat dinner without a hall full of chattering children and clanging utensils. Though perhaps the noise would have been welcome on this evening, if only to distract her from her rolling stomach and shaking hands. She was more than a little cross with herself for being so anxious, but, then again, she _was_ about to test Snape's boundaries. It could end _very_ badly.

"Samantha, you haven't a touched a thing," McGonagall said sternly. Her sudden comment startled Samantha out of her thoughts.

"I'm just tired," she answered, only half lying. "I'm in an awkward place with the students."

McGonagall nodded knowingly.

"A Slytherin who taught Muggle Studies last year was inexplicably allowed to come back to teach Potions? I can imagine why they wouldn't know where you stand."

Samantha wasn't entirely sure if she was reading too much into the statement, but it sounded as though _McGonagall_ didn't quite know where she stood. It was almost accusatory.

"Minerva, he knew as well as the rest of you why I was really here."

"Exactly," she continued in a whisper. "It makes it even more difficult for those of us who knew why. You were working on that potion on top of it all."

Samantha couldn't keep the surprise, and hurt, from showing clearly on her face.

"I –," her voice faltered. She didn't quite know what to say. Samantha shook her head trying to come up with an explanation. "He knew, the _Dark Lord_ knew. And Severus, he did what he was told and my potion went nowhere. I'm not allowed in my lab without his supervision."

"I am simply telling you what it looks like," said McGonagall in an attempt to placate her.

"Well, good, that's comforting," Samantha said curtly. She continued, as she stood and threw her napkin onto her plate, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go fraternize with the _enemy_ in _my_ lab."

Snape watched the scene unfold, wondering what the two women were arguing about. He was quite sure that McGonagall had never been on the receiving end of Samantha's temper before. She was getting off light, though he knew it was certainly not over when Samantha glared at him as she walked past his chair. He wasn't even sure if she'd meant to do it, but he took it as his cue to go to the lab.

He found Samantha waiting, rather impatiently from the looks of it, at the door to the lab. She had likely found that the wards had been changed and that he wasn't about to give her access.

"Headmaster," she said coolly, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She was tense and furious. He needed to find out why.

"Professor," Snape responded in a neutral tone.

Samantha relaxed slightly when he didn't sneer at her. She watched as he wordless performed a rather complicated wand pattern thus allowing them access. He opened the door and waited for her to enter before entering himself. She had to admit she was a little surprised at his manners. Not that he was _always_ a total bastard, but she definitely didn't expect to receive any courtesy from him now.

"What are you making?" He asked without pretense.

"Calming Draught," she said in an almost sarcastic tone. Samantha knew he'd understand why. "I suppose my simpleton syllabus wasn't an entirely bad idea."

She hadn't really planned on being so bold right out of the gate, but there it was. Now it remained to be seen how he reacted. All she received was a stern look and a raised eyebrow, which was encouraging in its own way.

Samantha could feel Snape's eyes on her as she retrieved her tools and ingredients and set to work. Twenty minutes had passed before he finally drew a breath to speak.

"You had a disagreement with Professor McGonagall during dinner this evening," he stated.

Samantha said nothing as she continued crushing the lavender with her mortar and pestle.

"She…doubts you," he said quietly, quite certain that he had sussed out the answer. Her brief glance told him that he was right.

"As do the students," said Samantha tightly.

Snape cursed inwardly. His one and only rational reason for revealing his innocence to her had just gone to hell in a hand basket. If they already suspected her, there was no way they could trust any information she had to give them. Unless…unless she was prepared to be a spy. Or at least pretend to be one, though of course the consequences of being found out amounted to the same messy end. Still, he wasn't sure if she would be able to convince them that she could fool him. Though it sounded arrogant, they all believed that he was able to pull the wool over Dumbledore's eyes, so why would they think that Samantha could deceive him?

Unless sex was involved, of course. They would almost certainly buy the story that he was a lonely, old, ugly bastard who would be willing to spill his secrets in exchange for sexual favors from a beautiful woman. But he didn't particularly want Samantha to have to go around masquerading as the headmaster's whore, much as that plan might actually work.

"And should they?"

"Should they what?" She asked absently as she lowered the flame beneath her cauldron.

"Doubt you."

Samantha wasn't entirely sure she wanted to answer that question, much less _how_ she should answer it. What would he do if she said yes? Why was he even asking her about this? Surely he knew the answer. Was he testing her?

"Your reticence to answer tells me that they shouldn't," said Snape lightly. "You need to work on that."

"I'm sorry?" Samantha asked, not having the faintest clue what he meant.

"Deception," he answered simply.

"I beg your pardon?" Samantha was not particularly pleased with how soundly he'd thrown her off balance.

Snape threw caution to the wind and decided to just out with it. He had done the same when he'd revealed his Dark Mark to her and that had ended well enough, he supposed. She'd taken it better than expected, and at that time she'd had no idea who or what he was. This time around, he knew she already questioned the official record of events. But was she really that attached to him that she might give him the benefit of the doubt in spite of the heinous act he had committed? If so, he truly did not deserve such a woman.

Before speaking, he cast every spell he knew that could prevent them from being heard. Samantha's eyes widened as he did so.

"What I am about to tell you does not leave this room," he said in a low, serious voice.

Samantha drew a breath to speak, but he shook his head.

"Let me speak first. Then you can ask questions." She nodded her head silently. "If I were to pass along information that could help the Order, you need to make people believe that it isn't coming from me."

Samantha's eyes widened at his words. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Help the Order? Could it be true that her doubts were well founded? It would be too good to be true.

"I know what you must think of me, Samantha," he said, relishing the feel of her name on his lips. It had been so long since he had spoken it aloud. Her gasp revealed the extent of her surprise. "I had no choice."

"No choice in what," she paused for a moment, clearly fighting an internal battle over her next words, "Severus?"

"Albus, Draco, it was all out of my hands. I made an Unbreakable Vow with his mother to protect him," Snape found as he spoke that the words just came tumbling out. He had longed to tell someone what happened and now he couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. "The Dark Lord told Draco that he had to kill Dumbledore. I swore to protect him, to fulfill his task if he could not."

Samantha's heart broke at the desperation in Snape's voice.

"Dumbledore told you that you had to kill him, didn't he? To save Draco," Samantha surmised. "That was the conversation you couldn’t talk about, wasn’t it?"

"Yes," he said softly. "He made me promise to do it. I would have rather broken the Vow and died for it, but I knew what the Dark Lord would do if Draco didn't kill him."

"And he swore you to silence too, I expect," said Samantha rather bitterly. Snape merely nodded. "Why did – why does he think he can use you like this?"

Snape laughed mirthlessly.

"I asked him the same thing." Samantha raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. "Many years ago, I promised that I would whatever he asked of me to defeat the Dark Lord."

"But you are defying him now," Samantha pointed out, though it was clear that she wasn't trying to accuse him of disloyalty.

"I am," Snape responded. He was surprised to find that he felt only the smallest flicker of guilt for it.

"Why?" She was rather sure she already knew the answer, but she needed to hear him say it.

"I need help. I can't save the wizarding world single handedly. I need someone to give my information to the Order," he explained. Samantha looked disappointed.

"And that's it, then? You just want to use me. What would you do if I say no? Just toss me aside and ignore me?"

"Mind that potion first and then we'll discuss this further," Snape said, eyeing the bubbling cauldron filled with a finished batch of Calming Draught.

Samantha looked down to find that she had been perilously close to botching the potion and mentally reprimanded herself for being so careless. It wasn't volatile, but it would have been deeply embarrassing to ruin such an elementary potion.

Once she had successfully bottled the potion, she turned off the flame on her cauldron and looked expectantly up at Snape.

"I need you for more than that," he admitted as he sat on a stool. Samantha rounded the table to lean against the counter next to him.

"What do you need me for, Severus?" Samantha asked insistently. Her eyes were filled with an intensity and hope that forced the words from his lips.

"I need… _you_ ," he said, hoping that it was enough. Now she seemed to be searching his face to find any hint of duplicity.

"Why should I trust you now? You told me you needed me the night before you went off and murdered Dumbledore." Samantha knew she was being harsh, but it was a question that had been haunting her for months.

"You shouldn't," Snape answered honestly. "But I need someone to trust me. I need _you_ to trust me. And not just for the Order. I need to know that there is someone who knows the truth."

"Oh Severus," Samantha whispered. "How could he do this to you? It was bad enough before, but now…" Samantha trailed off, not able to put into words the injustice of his situation. She could not even begin to imagine what he felt.

"So…you will – you are willing to give me a chance?" He asked, his voice making it clear that he was only just daring to hope that she would.

Samantha could feel the tears prick her eyes. He sounded so broken and so desperate for someone to help him deal with his burden, though he clearly also felt as though he didn’t deserve the sympathy.

"I won't pretend it won't be hard," she said, her voice thick with emotion. " _Whatever_ the reason, you did _kill_ someone."

Snape closed his eyes and began to turn away from her. She placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

"I didn't say no, Severus. But I can't just give you all of my trust over night after what's happened."

He looked up at her, childlike hope warring with uncertainty. She graced him with a tender smile and watched as the uncertainty quickly melted away.

"I don't know what to say," he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Don't say anything," Samantha instructed as she placed a hand on his cheek.

Samantha was sure that the tension and anticipation before she lowered her lips to his rivaled the night of their first kiss. She placed just enough pressure on his cheek to tilt his head toward her. It was a gentle, heartfelt kiss that nearly caused her knees to buckle. There was passion behind it, to be sure, but this was far more than that. The intensity was coming from somewhere much deeper than mere physical attraction.

She felt tears begin to slide down her face as they pulled back. Snape looked torn between surprise and guilt. Samantha shook her head.

"No, it's nothing, Severus. Nothing's wrong," she said as the tears continued to fall. "Come here."

Samantha placed her hand on the back of his head and kissed him soundly. She smiled against his lips in disbelief at this turn of events. Once more, she pulled back and took in a deep breath. Given the immense relief she felt, she could only imagine what he was feeling.

"Samantha," Snape started, though he wasn't entirely sure where to go from there.

"Let's just let this be what it is for now and talk about all the technicalities later," said Samantha as she placed her hands on his shoulders. "I have a lot to think about and not much time in which to do it."

She squeezed his shoulders and began to turn toward the table. Snape grabbed one of her hands before she could cross the room and simply stared at it as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles softly before relinquishing his hold.

"I'll bring this up to Poppy in the morning," Samantha stated needlessly as she picked up her robes.

Turning back to the door, Samantha stopped next to Snape and draped her arm across his chest as she rested her cheek against his. Snape slid his arm from between them and wrapped it around her waist. They stood for a few moments in silence before Samantha kissed his temple and dragged her arm back across his chest.

Samantha wanted to say something before leaving, but, upon finding that there really was nothing to say for the moment, she silently left the lab for her quarters.

Snape remained seated for some time after Samantha left. When he finally felt as though his legs would be able to hold his weight, he began the long trip up to the headmaster's quarters (he was still reticent to refer to the set of rooms as his own). As he walked, he thought about what happened, about what he had revealed. He knew he had just further complicated matters, but he found he didn't much care. His life had always been filled with complicated shadows. For the first time in his life, he thought that he might just be capable of groping his way through the darkness to reach the light of day.


	25. Deception 101

"Severus, if you had never turned, would this have worked on you?" Samantha asked as she idly twirled a stirring rod in her fingers.

Snape remained silent, leaning against the counter, lips pursed. Samantha wasn't sure if he didn't want to answer or simply didn't have one for her. He drew a breath, but paused for a moment before speaking.

"Are you worried that no one will believe this charade?" He asked in a not-quite-sarcastic tone.

"That's not what I asked you," Samantha said lightly. "I _asked_ if _you_ think it would have truly been successful."

Snape knew what he wanted to say. He would have given Lily his soul if she'd asked for it. Even if he'd known that she was only trying to get information out of him. He would have told her anything, given her any potion, any scrap of intelligence he could get his hands on. But could he say that now to Samantha? Was it even relevant?

If he wanted her to trust him, he needed to be honest with her. He needed to show her that _he_ trusted _her_.

"There was only one woman who would have ever been successful," he said quietly. "Back then, anyway."

Samantha's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Who–"

"Lily Evans," Snape said before Samantha could ask the question he still wasn't sure he wanted to answer. But it was out. He'd admitted it.

But Samantha still looked confused. Of course. She had no idea who Lily Evans was.

"Lily _Potter_ ," Snape amended.

Samantha's eyebrows shot skyward.

"As in… _Potter_ Potter?" She asked, knowing it was a rather inane question. Snape looked as though he thought it as well.

"If you mean ' _Potter_ Potter' to be Harry Potter, then yes. The mother of Harry _blessed_ Potter," he said, a sneer forming on his face.

"Severus, if you don't want to talk about this –"

"No, I brought it up," he said with a weary sigh. He must be going soft.

"You were in love with Harry Potter's mother," Samantha stated. Snape merely looked at her.

"I have never had – there is no question that none but her would have been successful. Not that, I am sure, many women would be clamoring for the opportunity. She was…" he paused. "She was the only one."

"Is that why you and Harry are so – is that why you hate each other?"

"I don't hate him, _per se_ ," said Snape, surprising even himself with his answer. "But he is the spitting image of his father with _her_ eyes. He acts like his father, he talks like his father, but he has Lily's eyes."

"A constant reminder that she chose him," Samantha said softly, almost to herself. Her head snapped up. "Oh Severus, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…I mean, that wasn't –" She stopped for a moment, a huff of breath escaped from her mouth in her irritation at her own gaffe. "That was incredibly insensitive of me."

"And entirely true," Snape said, incapable of completely keeping the bitterness out of his voice. "I may not hate Harry Potter, but I _do_ hate James Potter."

"What happened?" asked Samantha.

"We grew up together," he started. "I knew her long before we went to Hogwarts. Then we finally got here and she was sorted into Gryffindor. It probably all started falling apart then, but we were somehow able to stay friends until our fifth year."

"Did she start dating James that year?"

Snape shook his head.

"No, that was later. It was my fault for the most part, though for many years I blamed it entirely on Potter."

Snape became quiet for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out how to tell a story he'd never told anyone. Samantha could see he was having trouble continuing his tale. She stood and walked around the table to sit on the stool in front of where he was leaning on the counter. She didn't touch him, but her proximity seemed to spur him to speech.

"James Potter and his gang of friends were bullies," he stated plainly. "On the day of our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL, they ambushed me near the lake."

"How many of them were there?"

"Four. There were _always_ four of them. They called themselves the _Marauders_ ," he sneered the word. With a start, he realized that all but Wormtail were now dead. Of all the injustices, _that_ waste of skin had to survive when the three who hadn't found it necessary to sell their souls were dead. Not just dead; murdered. Was there _anyone_ in his year who had been able to lead a normal life after school? It was a wonder Hogwarts had any students at all.

"Was Remus one of them?" Samantha asked suddenly. She vaguely recalled a conversation with Lupin in which he'd told her that they'd been at school together. It would certainly explain why Snape had always been on edge around him.

Snape gave her a long look before slowly nodding.

"He was," he answered stiffly.

Samantha felt as though she wanted to apologize, though she wasn't exactly sure for what she should be apologizing.

"Was he – I mean, did he ever –"

"No, he never attacked me directly," Snape interrupted, knowing exactly what she wanted to ask and why she wanted to ask it. Lupin had been her friend and himself, well, he was her…partner? Terminology wasn't important now. The point was that she didn't want to think that Lupin had participated in the kind of tormenting his friends had so willingly visited upon Snape.

Samantha almost sighed in relief, but Snape continued.

"But nor did he stop them."

"Oh," said Samantha in a small voice.

"And certainly not on the day in question," he said, trying to finish his story so he could be done with it. "They ambushed me. Lily was there and she defended me. I, being the foolish sixteen-year-old boy that I was, couldn't let a _girl_ defend me to a group of boys who already saw me as weak. I – I called her a mudblood."

Samantha wasn't entirely surprised by his admission. She knew well his temper and his propensity for saying incredibly hurtful, not to mention stupid, things when he was angry. Top that off with the immaturity and lack of restraint typical of teenagers and it was a rather potent brew.

"Did you apologize to her?"

"Yes. As many times as I could. I even threatened to sleep outside the entrance to the Gryffindor common room until she talked to me." Snape recalled the conversation vividly. He hated to admit that it still hurt.

"And she never forgave you?"

Snape shook his head.

"No," he said. "She cut off all ties with me that very night. She never spoke to me again."

He recalled the conversation so vividly, in fact, that he could still hear her words ringing in his head. _You've chosen your way_. How hard he had tried to convince her otherwise.

"Severus, please don't get angry at me for what I'm about to say," Samantha started cautiously. "But if she couldn't forgive you after you sincerely apologized for saying what you did, I –" She cut herself off short. She looked truly apprehensive to continue. "Promise me you won't bite my head off for this."

"If you can sit here and talk to me after knowing what I've done, I think I can assure you that I won't inflict any physical harm on you because of what you say."

Samantha was unconvinced, but continued nonetheless.

"She didn't deserve your devotion, Severus," Samantha said at last. She tensed, waiting for his fury to be unleashed.

Much to her surprise, he merely shrugged.

"She had it, no matter what she did. She was my first and only friend. My only _real_ friend," Snape explained.

"No, Severus, if she'd been a real friend, she would have at least tried to accept your apology," Samantha forged ahead, knowing she was entering dangerous territory. "People make mistakes and sometimes those mistakes are – and there is no other way to put this – monumental fuck-ups. Friends forgive each other, or at least make every attempt to. _Even_ for those monumental fuck-ups."

"I wasn't exactly hanging out with the best crowd either," Snape said, starting to get defensive. It was to be expected, of course.

"And her boyfriend was a bully," Samantha countered. She hoped she didn't sound as if she was trying to make herself out to be better than the woman. She merely wanted Snape to know that he deserved better in general.  Of course, she’d never been on the receiving end of such an ugly insult – not in any serious way, at any rate, Draco Malfoy certainly didn’t count.  Snape had said terrible things to her, but never like that.  Perhaps she was being too forgiving of his actions and, in turn, judging Potter’s mother too harshly.

"I'd like to stop talking about this," he responded, his voice tight. "Now."

Samantha immediately backed off. She'd pushed enough of his buttons tonight. She still didn't really have an answer to the question that had started the entire conversation.

"Let me pose a hypothetical," she started carefully. "Had there been no Lily, or, at least, had she not held the place of importance in your life that she did, would this little plan of ours have worked? If you were, right now, faithful to the Dark Lord and I wanted to get information out of you in exchange for sexual favors, would you oblige me?"

"I don't know if I have an answer for that. I know others would believe it, especially those who know our – ah – history."

"There's _my_ problem, though," said Samantha, sounding more than a little troubled. "Those who know our history are questioning _my_ loyalties. If they thought that our little arrangement was anything more than _quid pro quo_ , which Minerva would immediately suspect it was, the whole thing would be useless."

"You make them believe it," Snape said simply, as though there were nothing easier to do.

"Subterfuge is not an innate talent of mine," Samantha admitted.

Snape rolled his eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder what that bloody hat was thinking," he muttered.

"Hey!" Samantha cried, slapping him playfully on the arm. "Perhaps it recognized the potential for it. Surely that's how it must sort the children. Eleven-year-olds don't generally have an appreciable talent for cunning."

"As you say," Snape conceded, though he still maintained an air of mock reticence. He sighed and his face became serious once more. "Don't deny that I'm your source, there's no one else it could be. Show them shame and embarrassment, but also resolve to do what needs to be done for the greater good. Minerva will go doe-eyed over that."

"And what about you?" She asked.

"What about me?"

"What if this gets out on your side of the fence? You need a cover story, too," she explained.

"Do you honestly think I don't already have one?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow at her lack of forethought. He was the bloody spy; it had been _his_ plan to begin with. "I don't answer to the Carrows, but if word gets out of this castle, I will explain that I have been able to turn you and you are acting as my spy in the Order."

"What if the Dark Lord wants to speak with me himself? What if he wants me to take the Mark?" Samantha asked insistently. She'd had a feeling that Snape would have to make up some story of her betrayal of the Order.

"He trusts me as much as he is able to trust anyone. He knows that I would be able to tell if you were lying and, as such, would not waste his time speaking to you himself," Snape explained calmly. "You will not need to take the Mark. Obviously, it would help you to keep your cover in the Order if you did not have it. The Dark Lord knows that. He knew I was distrusted by the Order because of my past and he wouldn't make the mistake of forcing you to do it."

"You hope," Samantha muttered. She felt uneasy about the whole thing. "I honestly don't know how you do it."

"I don't know how _not_ to do it," he answered flatly. "This is all I've done since I was twenty."

"Yes, well, not being much older than that myself, I doubt I'd make it to _your_ age at this rate," said Samantha. A smirk briefly crossed her face when she saw him grimace at her mention of their age difference.

"Must you?"

"Yes," she said, hopping off her stool and giving him a peck on the lips. "I must."

Samantha placed her hands on Snape's chest as his arms came to wrap around her waist. She held his eyes for a moment before sighing and laying her head on his shoulder.

"Tell me we're going to make it through this, Severus," she whispered. The rough wool of his coat scratched her cheek as she spoke.

Snape tightened his hold and buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply.

"That depends on what you mean by 'make it through'," he said, trying to avoid the issue.

Samantha scoffed half-heartedly, hardly expecting to get a straight answer out of him. She slid her hands up his chest and clasped them behind his neck as she repositioned her head to rest against his chest. Standing there like that made it easy to fool herself into thinking it was all just one hell of a nightmare. But sooner or later she would have to let go and pretend to hate him even as she pretended to spy for him.

Finally, she pulled back, knowing that they had more to discuss. She sat back on the stool and leaned back on her elbows on the table behind her.

"We need to test this," she said with a resigned sigh. "I need some small piece of intelligence to pass along to Minerva. Not quite inconsequential, but not a game-changer either."

Snape crossed his arms and legs as he leaned against the counter, thinking of what he could give her.

"The Ministry is going to begin actively recruiting Snatchers by the end of the month," he said at last. "Some of the recruits will undoubtedly be under the Imperius Curse, especially those who would not be suspected of participating in such activities. They want to find people who Potter would trust."

Samantha nodded. It was important enough to pass along, but not a bombshell. After all, she would have to ease into prying information out of him anyway, right? No one would expect her to uncover Voldemort's every plan on her first try.

As she made her way back to her rooms, Samantha's mind buzzed with more thoughts than she had time to process. First and foremost was doubt. Was she doing the right thing? Was she right in trusting Snape? He had, after all, _killed_ someone, no matter that the said someone had made him promise to do so. And was _that_ even true? He seemed so earnest in his remorse. But hadn't he just said that spying was all he knew?

Was she naïve for believing anything he said? For trusting in him? She thought of Lily. _She_ hadn't forgiven him after he called her a mudblood and here Samantha was giving the same man the benefit of the doubt after he'd committed murder. Not to mention having already insinuated that she'd been the reason her husband was dead.

It seemed that everything that worked in his favor had a corresponding doubt.

This was one of those moments in which she dearly wished she could consult Father Matthews. She wasn't sure what he would say of Snape's actions, but she was reasonably sure that he would tell her that she needed to forgive him. Certain though she was of his advice, she still wanted to hear it from him. But she knew it was too dangerous. Owls were monitored – especially those coming out of Hogwarts from known Order members – and apparition was out of the question. Any Muggle method of transportation would take far too long. No, she could not in good conscience make any attempt to contact him for his own safety. She would never be able to forgive herself if something should happen to him.

Going to Mass – at _any_ church – was likewise impossible. With the Snatchers out and about and Death Eaters roaming freely, any attempt she might make to go could put herself, and any Muggles around her, in danger. She would have to console herself in the knowledge that she was ultimately doing the right thing. Though she now wished she had pressed harder to go while she had spent the summer at the Weasleys'. But she had been so distraught, so depressed, that she had completely detached herself from the world around her. At that point, nothing at all seemed to matter; she had barely been able to muster up the will to bathe and eat, much less anything else.

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Samantha was mortified to find that she had simply been standing motionless in front of her door for God knows how long. She looked up and down the hall to make sure no one had been privy to her actions. Satisfied that only she and the castle had witnessed it, she unwarded her door, made a cup of tea, and sat down to plot.

Knowing that she had to pass on the information Snape had given her sooner rather than later, Samantha resolved to speak with McGonagall the very next day. If she gave herself any more time to dwell on what she was about to do, she knew she'd never pluck up the courage to go through with it.

So pluck up the courage she did after she finished her final lesson for the day. Samantha raised her fist to knock on McGonagall's office door. She hesitated for a moment, but took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and rapped on the door three times in rapid succession before she could change her mind. Samantha dropped her arm and rolled her eyes at her own behavior.

"Come in," she heard McGonagall's voice call from within. She took one more breath, opened the door, stepped in, and closed it quietly behind her. "Samantha, what can I do for you?"

"We need to talk," she said, her voice low and intense. "Is your office…secure?"

McGonagall immediately took her meaning and waved her wand, wordlessly casting what Samantha assumed was a silencing spell.

"It is now," said McGonagall, setting her wand back on her desk. "Why don't you sit down?"

Samantha did as she was bid. With her eyebrow raised in thought (something she'd never noticed she did until Snape pointed it out to her), she thought through exactly how to begin the conversation.

"I have some – ah – news for you," she started.

"News?" McGonagall asked, clearly confused.

"Information," Samantha clarified.

McGonagall looked fairly astonished at her admission, but remained silent.

"The Ministry is to start actively recruiting Snatchers within the month," she said, knowing she was now beyond the point of no return. Her pulse raced at the thought. "Obviously, they will have no reservations about using the Imperius Curse to _acquire_ those whom Potter would trust in order to lure him out of hiding."

There. It was out, seemingly hanging in the air in the subsequent silence.

"Samantha, where did you get this from?" McGonagall asked, her face set in stern lines. Samantha wasn't sure if it looked more like worry or suspicion. She rather hoped it would be the former.

"That isn't important. It's –"

"It was Snape, wasn't it?" She asked suddenly. Samantha's mouth snapped shut. They had talked about this. If McGonagall was to guess that Snape was her informant, Samantha wasn't supposed to contradict her. Still, that meant that McGonagall would have to be persuaded that what she'd been told was true. Now it was time to start acting.

"Yes," Samantha answered softly. "It was."

"Why would you trust anything he says? We all know what he did. How can you be sure that he isn't setting us up?"

Well, here goes nothing.

"We have an arrangement," said Samantha simply.

"Are you leaking Order –"

 _"No!"_ Samantha cried, perhaps rather louder than necessary. She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, waiting for McGonagall to come to the next logical conclusion.

"Then…Samantha, you aren't." McGonagall's voice was both apprehensive and accusatory.

"Minerva," Samantha started, trying to stop the woman from the rant Samantha knew she so dearly wished to deliver.

"We are supposed to be better than this."

Samantha only wished she could tell her what Dumbledore was putting Snape through, what he had made him do. No, they were no better.

"I do what I must," she said. The blush slowly creeping across her face was no act; though it was in no way due to the shame McGonagall thought she felt. She averted her eyes to make her embarrassment seem more convincing.

Samantha flicked her eyes back up to McGonagall to find that Snape had been spot on in his prediction of her reaction. Her eyes had softened and she looked caught between pride and sympathy at the burden she thought Samantha was taking on. Samantha didn't particularly like the feeling that came over her. It was a complete and utter lie. The whole thing was a total charade. She couldn't even imagine what Snape felt. At least she was ingratiating herself to the Order, rather than making them hate her.

"He hasn't… _hurt_ you, has he?" She asked in a rather motherly tone.

"No," Samantha answered. "And I don't think he is likely to do so. I believe he may still have a soft spot for me, which will obviously work to my advantage."

So that embellishment may not have been in the plan, but it seemed like the right thing to say. It would go a long way in explaining how she was able to acquire any truly important pieces of information she may offer in the future.

"I can't see how he could have a soft spot for anyone, but if you say so."

"Well, he _is_ a man, after all, Minerva," Samantha said, a rather twisted smirk on her face. "Even evil bastards appreciate company from time to time and I am quite sure that he is used to such company coming at a cost."

It was a low blow, and she inwardly cringed at the insult, but it was necessary to keep both their covers.

"I am simply going to pass along everything he tells me. It'll be up to the more seasoned Order members to decide if it's legitimate," she continued. Given her own doubts, though significantly fewer than the rest of the Order, Samantha thought it prudent to add that caveat should Snape truly be working against them. Her stomach churned at the thought.

"Very well," McGonagall said with a nod. "Come to me as soon as you find out anything new."

Samantha nearly breathed a sigh of relief. She was in. There was, however, one catch.

"I would like it if my particular involvement with Severus could be shared with the fewest number of people as possible. This is not exactly the reputation I would like running through the ranks," she said. And it was true, even if she wasn't _actually_ doing anything.

"Of course," said McGonagall. "I will keep this between you and I so long as I am able. It may be necessary to inform Kingsley of the source and circumstances of this information, but once it goes through him, no one else need know."

Samantha nodded in satisfaction. The less people she had to sell her story to, the better. Her reputation aside, it would mean convincing others of Snape's supposed depravity or at least of a rather pathetic desperation for female companionship. Either way, it was not something she wanted to do more than she had to.

A thought suddenly struck her, though it certainly wasn't one she could share with McGonagall. What if she was required to submit to questioning under Veritaserum? Perhaps Shacklebolt would require it in return for keeping her secret safe. The thought terrified her. She'd never once been under its effects, she would surely spill hers – and Snape's – secrets the moment the first drop hit her tongue. She couldn't very well refuse should they deem it necessary; it would be an implicit admission of her deception.

Despite this disquieting inner monologue, Samantha was able to calmly escape from McGonagall's office so she could go fret away in the privacy of her quarters. Why hadn't Snape thought of this? Surely he must have. Not only was he a spy, but he'd been the bloody Potions Master for over a decade! Was this the proof of his duplicity? Had he planned this? Was he sending her into the lion's den, knowing all along that she would be devoured? She wanted nothing more than to convince herself that she was being far too paranoid for her own good. But the doubts remained. Which was he? Friend or foe?


	26. Truthtelling

Breakfast was a tense affair. Snape and Samantha, who took care to avoid eye contact, had already seated themselves at the head table before McGonagall arrived. The moment the woman appeared at the doors, Samantha saw the unbridled disgust on her face as soon as she set eyes on Snape. This in and of itself was nothing new. But there seemed to be some kind of new fervor behind it, and Samantha knew exactly why that was. McGonagall saw him as having sunk to even lower levels of degradation and, unfortunately, Samantha was sure that McGonagall thought she was going right along with him.

Samantha chanced a glance at Snape. The stoic mask, unsurprisingly, was firmly in place. In fact, he looked almost bored with McGonagall's glares.

McGonagall rounded the table and came to sit primly between them, her green tartan robes adding a touch of color to the black-clad professors flanking her. All three sat ramrod straight in their chairs, their movements tight, expressions stony.

Samantha knew that she had stepped onto the fine line along with Snape as soon as she'd spoken to McGonagall. Whatever Snape's loyalties were – Samantha was still fixated on the Veritaserum issue – she had placed herself out on a limb that there was no stepping back from.

With these thoughts running through her head, she was painfully aware of her deportment in public. For Snape's side of the story to hold up, she needed to make sure that the Carrows, along with the whole of Slytherin, could believe that her loyalties had changed, even as she preserved ties with the Order.

Snape, on the other hand, was all too accustomed to this game. If McGonagall's icy glare was anything to go by, Samantha had already spoken to her. He could well imagine what she thought of him. He was a murdering, depraved, conniving bastard. He didn't entirely disagree.

As Samantha leaned forward to reach for the coffee, Snape glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was stiff; too stiff, perhaps. Her face was hard, but he could still see the anxiety. She would need to work on that if they had any hope of success.

And speaking of success, it seemed he needed to do a bit more to convince her of his loyalty to the Light. She had studiously avoided his eyes as she made her way to her seat at the head table and swept silently past him once she reached the dais. Given their arrangement, she would need to make sure that she was not seen treating him as did the rest of his staff. The Order knew her true motives and that would have to be good enough.

It was then that he noticed that McGonagall had caught him looking at Samantha. Disapproval did not even begin to cover what he saw in her face. She was positively disgusted with him and, despite his efforts to the contrary, it had an effect on him. He was used to distrust and suspicion and even hatred, but she looked practically ill at having to sit anywhere near him.

But he couldn't let that show. Instead, he raised an eyebrow at her and, though it sickened even himself to do it, he smirked. She looked positively scandalized at his response and turned resolutely back to her plate.

"I don't understand how you can do it, Samantha," McGonagall whispered furiously to the woman sitting next to her.

Samantha didn't need to ask what she meant.

"It must be done. It _is_ done and there's no going back," she responded, knowing how all too true those words were.

"But the way he was just looking at you," McGonagall protested. "It makes my skin crawl."

"I try not to think about it."

With that, Samantha placed her cup back in its saucer and rose to leave for the dungeons. As she passed Snape, he raised a hand to stop her. He motioned with a crooked finger for her to lean down toward him.

"Stop looking so bloody scared of me," he whispered. "If this is to work, they can't think you hate me."

Samantha leaned back just far enough to meet his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, but said nothing. Finally, she gave him one, sharp nod and straightened before moving swiftly to the exit.

Snape watched her leave and, as he turned back to his cup of coffee, he saw that Amycus Carrow was looking at him with what was nothing short of a conspiratorial, borderline lascivious, grin. Well, that was that taken care of.

Though they were mere weeks into term, Snape was already restless with his duties as headmaster. He had honestly never wanted the job, even in the best of times, and now the tedious task of overseeing a school was made all the more onerous with a murderous, raving lunatic looking over his shoulder.

Just then, the Mark on his forearm flared to life. Speak of the devil.

"Albus," said Snape, waking the man in the portrait.

"You've been called?" Dumbledore asked without preamble. Omniscient even in death, it seemed.

Snape gave a sharp nod and quickly strode to his office door. He had a feeling he was not the only one called. To prove his supposition correct, he found the Carrows waiting for him in the Entrance Hall. He swept past them with little more than a jerk of his head and they followed in his wake.

"Oi! Snape!" Amycus huffed from a few paces behind him as they crossed the grounds. "Why don't you just drop the wards and let us apparate out?"

"Because those wards are there for a reason," Snape answered simply and somewhat cryptically.

Neither brother nor sister pushed him on the matter and watched as Snape tapped the gates with his wand. The chains obligingly snaked back, permitting him to push the gate open.

The trio apparated to Malfoy Manor and silently made their way up the drive, pausing only to raise their arms for the gates to allow them access.

Once inside the formerly grand foyer, Snape saw that he and the Carrows were the only outsiders present. So it was Hogwarts business, then. _Fantastic._

Narcissa quickly retrieved them and led them to parlor. Upon entering, they found Voldemort seated with Nagini, as ever, in front of the fire. The Malfoy matriarch retreated as swiftly as she was able, but Bellatrix, who'd been lurking in a corner, made no move to leave.

"Severus," Voldemort hissed from his chair.

He motioned for Snape to approach him, but did not bid him to sit. Instead, Voldemort stood and took several measured steps toward him.

"I have heard, Severus," Voldemort started, circling Snape like a snake would its prey, "some troubling news regarding several students and their efforts to subvert your, and therefore _my_ , authority. I think, perhaps, that we may need to revisit our decision regarding discipline at Hogwarts."

"Whatever you wish, my Lord," Snape answered, knowing full well what was coming. He'd suspected he wouldn't make it through an entire school year before this issue was raised.

"Starting now, the Carrows will deal with unruly students as they see fit."

Snape glanced over at the pair. Unsurprisingly, they looked positively orgasmic at the very idea of it.

"You will tell your staff that they must refer any and all troublemakers to Amycus, regardless of the infraction."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Make sure that the Longbottom brat gets his due," Bellatrix instructed Amycus, who nodded enthusiastically in response.

Snape knew he would have to try to get the boy to put a stop to his antics. Between Longbottom, the Weasley girl, and Lovegood, he'd had his hands full making sure the three didn't get themselves – or anyone else, for that matter – killed. Surprised though he'd been when he found that Neville Longbottom had grown a backbone, Snape also knew that it could not have come at a worse time.

"With pleasure," Amycus answered eagerly.

This would not end well.

"There is also to be a change to the syllabus," Voldemort continued. "Amycus."

"Yes, my Lord," the man responded, kneeling dutifully.

"Let us dispense with this nonsense about _defense_ and teach our students practical things. The Unforgivables, perhaps. I am sure between you and Severus, you can come up with fitting lesson plans."

Snape was not pleased with this turn of events. Carrow's syllabus was bad enough as it was and Voldemort was now giving the idiot man carte blanche to teach the students how to torture. Perfect, just _perfect_.

"And Severus," Voldemort said, turning back to face Snape. "How is your little blood traitor?"

"She is uncertain that she wishes to remain a traitor," Snape answered carefully.

"Indeed?" Voldemort asked. His expression suggested he'd have raised an eyebrow if he had any. "And how did we come across this information?"

"She herself spoke with me shortly after the start of term."

"You played your part well, my servant," he said indulgently. "Is she so taken with you that she would betray the Order?"

Snape heard Bellatrix snort from her corner. Both Snape and Voldemort turned to face her.

"That woman taken with _you_ , Snape?" She said with a pronounced sneer as she sauntered into the light of the fire. "What potion did you use?"

"Now, Bellatrix, play nice," said Voldemort lightly. "The woman appears to gravitate towards age, rather than looks. As I recall, her husband was nearly thirty years older than herself."

So now he was ugly _and_ old? Honestly, Bellatrix was a decade his senior. As he glanced at the woman in question, however, he saw that Voldemort had hit a nerve with her as well. Well, all was not lost, then. He smirked triumphantly as she bristled at Voldemort's implication.

"I do not think I shall have to put much effort into persuading her, my Lord," Snape continued.

"Good, good," said Voldemort, turning back to his chair. "Then you can put her to work making useful potions and leave the half-breeds be."

"Did she enjoy Greyback's little present?" Bellatrix asked in a playful voice. The woman really was unhinged. He could hear Alecto's unmistakable cackle behind him.

"It is not something we have discussed," Snape answered darkly.

And it really wasn't. Apart from her brief mention of Lupin as they discussed their plan, he hadn't spoken to her about what had happened over the summer. They hadn't even really talked about how she felt about what he did, though he was reasonably certain that she hadn't really come to terms with it yet. He had a feeling he knew who she needed to speak to in order to work through her feelings on the matter, but it was risky. Snape wasn't even sure that _he_ could arrange some sort of contact between she and the priest. It could potentially put all three of them in danger.

"And not something we need to discuss now," said Voldemort. "That is all I required of you this evening. Go inform your staff, Severus."

"I will, my Lord," Snape answered.

Snape and the Carrows bowed to Voldemort before turning to leave. As they made their way back toward the gates, Snape listened to the siblings babble excitedly over their new responsibilities. His stomach twisted the longer they spoke. He had promised Dumbledore to protect the children and now he had very little control over their discipline. It would be possible to warn Samantha against sending her students to the pair, but he couldn't be seen telling every other professor that they should try to avoid punishing students. The thought was disturbing, but perhaps after stories of the first or second detention made their way around the student body, the little dunderheads would have the sense to keep their heads down. He didn't hold out much hope for their common sense to kick in now, though.

The moment they returned to the castle, Snape sent out notice to the staff to let them know that he required their presence the following morning for an important staff meeting. He would have liked to put it off, but there was no way Amycus would be able to contain himself if Snape delayed in relating the news to the rest of the staff.

Sitting in her office that evening, Samantha read the note she had received from Snape through the floo. It was terse and to the point. Hardly surprising, that. Though it was merely an announcement of a staff meeting, Samantha had a sinking feeling about the reason for it. It seemed urgent in its own way and urgency in these times was never a good sign.

Samantha walked into the staff room precisely five minutes before the meeting was due to start to find that Snape had not yet arrived. She took a seat near the head of the table, knowing that it would be expected of her. If she was supposed to be Snape's plaything, she would have to start acting like it.

Moments later, Snape burst into the room and swept to the head of the table. The professors who had been quietly chatting were quickly silenced and they turned expectantly toward Snape. They waited as he sat himself and glanced momentarily on Samantha, who was sitting directly to his right.

"I have called this staff meeting to inform you of a change in our disciplinary measures," said Snape in a low voice that somehow still commanded the attention of his listeners.

This could not be good.

"You will henceforth refer all students requiring detentions to Amycus."

The response was immediate. McGonagall was the loudest of all, but Samantha could also make out Flitwick's furious squeaks over the din. She could likewise hear the mirthless cackles of both Carrows.

It made her blood boil, but she knew she was not in a position to protest. Samantha eyed Snape warily and, as though feeling her eyes upon him, he turned to face her. They sat in silent contemplation of the other for a few moments as the battle amongst the staff raged. Finally, Snape looked away and stood.

"Silence," he said in a loud voice, though not quite shouting. "There will be serious consequences for anyone who wishes to ignore this change in policy."

"There will be serious consequences for the _students_ of those who obey it!" McGonagall shouted boldly, her Scottish brogue made thicker in her anger. There was no mistaking what house she belonged to.

Snape glared at McGonagall, who, unsurprisingly, gave as good as she got (or at least tried to, there was really no beating Snape at this game).

"If you have any grievances, I suggest you take them up," he said, "with the _Dark Lord_."

Amycus laughed gruffly as McGonagall sat with an annoyed huff.

Samantha could simply not believe what she was hearing. They would all have to turn their students over to Death Eaters every time they earned a detention. There really was no telling what they would do to them, but she was sure that the Cruciatus would be used liberally. They would be forced to send their own students to certain torture. She knew they would all do their best to fight against it.  However, there would doubtlessly be those students who fell through the cracks and would end up under the wand of Amycus Carrow.

At the same time, Samantha couldn't pretend she didn't see it coming. There were pockets of rebellion amongst the students and it was only a matter of time before _someone_ made the decision to raise the stakes. But had it been Snape? If it was, why hadn't he just enforced it at the start of term rather than waiting for students to act up? Was he simply acting on Voldemort's orders or had this been a collaborative effort?

In spite of her attempts to rationalize the situation, however, she still found herself becoming infuriated with the dark man sitting next to her. He looked so calm, so collected, as though his announcement that they would henceforth be torturing twelve-year-olds for speaking out of turn was par for the course.

"Tell 'em what else, Snape," she suddenly heard Carrow say from beside her. She didn't like sitting so close to the vile man, but she had a cover to keep.

"Yes, _Snape_ , what else?" McGonagall asked mockingly.

Snape didn't look pleased by either comment, but drew a breath to speak.

"There will also be a change in the Dark Arts syllabus," he began, but was interrupted by the murmurs about his choice of wording. _Dark Arts?_

"Yeah, that's right," Amycus broke in. "We'll be teaching those kids somethin' useful."

Samantha longed to voice her opposition, but knew she had to keep her mouth shut. Her irritation grew as she listened to Amycus wax lyrical (or as lyrical as the imbecile could get) about his new syllabus, while Snape remained silent and motionless.

After what must have been ten minutes of Amycus rambling on, McGonagall stood abruptly, her chair scraping loudly on the floor.

"I will not listen to another word of this rubbish!" She shouted.

"Sit. Down."

Snape had finally spoken. His voice was cold and harsh. It was the voice of the man everyone thought him to be. The Death Eater, the Dark Lord's faithful servant, the murderer.

It chilled Samantha to the bone, but McGonagall did not appear cowed by his tone. She wasn't all that surprised. McGonagall had, after all, known Snape since he was a small boy. So, rather than heeding the warning in his tone, she stepped around her chair and made her way for the door. Snape, however, had other ideas, and stood swiftly to block her path.

"Out of my way, Snape, I won't hear another word!"

But Snape would not move an inch.

"You will do as I say, professor," he answered in a dangerous tone.

"I most certainly will _not_ send my students to those…those…animals!" McGonagall shouted back at him, gesturing to the Carrows.

Snape slowly extracted his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at McGonagall.

"Do you need to be made an example of?"

The room was absolutely silent as they waited for McGonagall to react. Finally, she stepped away from Snape and the room's occupants deflated as she returned to her seat, but the tension returned the moment Snape began speaking.

"If anyone else wants to test me, I will gladly give you a taste of what your students will endure in their detentions," Snape said, his eyes roaming over the faces of his staff. "Just give me a reason."

Samantha was horrified by what she was witnessing. Could this possibly be the same man who had only just days ago told her of his devotion to Lily Potter? Who had spoken of his desperation? Had told her that he needed her? It wasn't possible. No, this was the man who had killed Dumbledore, the man who had spent two decades bullying and insulting students and colleagues alike.

Snape, thankfully, ended the meeting there and the staff fled from the room as fast and orderly as was possible. Samantha was among those fleeing Snape's presence. She rather thought this was what his students felt like at the end of his class.

"Minerva," Samantha called, trying to catch up with her colleague. The woman may have been decades older than she, but she could certainly move when she wanted to.

"Samantha, I don't want you anywhere near that man," said McGonagall the moment Samantha caught up to her. "He's dangerous."

"We all knew that," Samantha responded, though she thought she might have underestimated what Snape was capable of.

"I would have never thought he'd threaten a teacher. And now the students!" McGonagall lamented, almost as if she'd just remembered the change in policy. She slowed down her pace and finally stopped in front of a window.

"So this wasn't something he thought worth mentioning to you?" McGonagall asked as she placed her hands on the sill. She sounded almost accusatory, as if this was something Samantha should have known.

"I didn't know to ask," answered Samantha honestly. "He won't just tell me everything. I have to know what I want before I ask him. This is a _quid pro quo_ arrangement."

McGonagall turned and just looked at Samantha, as though she were working through a particularly difficult puzzle.

"I don't want to ask this–"

"Then don't," Samantha said immediately. She knew exactly what McGonagall was going to ask and she wasn't about to explain her "technique."

The woman stood silently for a moment, lips pursed, her eyes still glued to Samantha's face.

"Be careful," was all she said before turning on her heel and walking up the stairs to her office.

"Yeah, great," Samantha muttered to herself.

She leaned against the wall and thought over the meeting. It was all so surreal. The man in that room was not the man she'd fallen in love with. But which was the real one? Everything seemed to stack up against him. All she had was his word that it was all a rouse. Just his word and no way to verify that it was the truth.

 _The truth._ Why hadn't she thought of it before? Veritaserum was her only way to get the truth. There was no way she could simply walk up to him and tell him to stick out his tongue, though. And there was definitely no chance she'd be able to dose him with it without his knowledge. No, she'd have to live up to the expectations of her house and come up with a plan.

Samantha spent that evening and much of the following day, thanking God it was the weekend all along, working through a plan that could have any hope of success. She decided, in the end, that it would be best to kill two birds with one stone. After all, she still wanted to know if he'd willfully neglected the possibility that she would be subjected to questioning under Veritaserum to verify her story.

On Sunday evening, she made her way up the stairs, allowing her anger to build with each step – and there were quite a few. Upon reaching the gargoyle guarding his office, she snarled the password and stomped up the spiral staircase.

" _Veritaserum,"_ Samantha hissed the moment the door to the headmaster's office banged open.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape asked, only just hiding his confusion.

"You seemed to have forgotten one little catch in your _brilliant_ plan, _headmaster_ ," said Samantha angrily.

Snape's eyes narrowed at her choice of title, as well as her meaning. Quickly realizing that Dumbledore's portrait – which was thankfully empty at that moment – would learn of his betrayal in letting Samantha in on their secret, he promptly stood from his desk and roughly grabbed her upper arm.

"In here, _professor_ ," he hissed back, pulling her along into his sitting room. She struggled against him, but she was no match.

"I knew I was a fool for trusting you," she said through gritted teeth.

Samantha furiously paced back and forth as he cast the strongest silencing charm he could. He knew how loud she could get when she was angry, and she was far more than _merely_ angry at this point. Barely restrained rage would probably better describe what she was feeling.

"What on earth are you going on about?" He asked, his voice loud but not quite a shout. Snape grasped her shoulders to bring her movements to a halt. She quickly wrenched herself out of his grip and backed away from him. She rounded the couch in the middle of the room, presumably to create a barrier between them.

"I should have thought of it before getting in this deep," she said in a quiet, but intense, voice.

"Thought of what!" Snape shouted at last. He was getting a little tired of her ramblings.

"Veritaserum!" She screamed at him. "You sent me to Minerva knowing full well that there was a very good chance they would require me to verify my story under Veritaserum. You had the luxury of Dumbledore's misplaced trust to shield you from their suspicions. Not me, though, I haven't got a leg to stand on."

"Samantha, did Minerva actually say that you would need to take Veritaserum?" Snape asked quietly, trying to calm the frantic woman.

"No," said Samantha, though there was no hint of embarrassment in her admission. "But she _did_ say that Kingsley Shacklebolt will likely need to be read in."

" _What?"_ He asked, becoming more irritated by the minute.

"Minerva. Kingsley. Veritaserum," Samantha said in a staccato tempo, her voice becoming more strained – and louder – with each word.

Snape dropped onto his couch with a huff. That was it; he had too much on his plate. How could he have missed such an obvious weakness? And it was true; he _had_ been protected against the need to explain himself by Dumbledore's trust. Well, he knew the easiest answer. He could prove her suspicions right and pretend to be the nasty Death Eater who would allow her to extract his secrets in return for sex, thus ensuring that she could submit to questioning under Veritaserum with no chance of betraying his cover.

But then he'd be cutting off his source of information _from_ the Order. He could still let Samantha in on the Dark Lord's plans, but he would have no way of giving her advice on how the Order should respond to those plans. He could give her advice, obviously, but it would be meaningless if she barely trusted the information he had.

" _Shit,"_ he breathed out as he dropped his head into his hands. "Samantha, this is all my fault."

"Damn right it is!" She shouted. "I have half a mind to dose you with it myself!"

Snape raised his head and looked over his shoulder at her.

"Is that what you truly want to do?"

Samantha regarded him silently for a moment, her eyes narrowed in suspicion of his motives. Despite that this reaction had been what her initial plan had hinged on, her mind whirred as she thought through his words. Was he bluffing? Did he think that she would accept his mere acquiescence as proof positive of his loyalties? Did _she_ think that? She wasn't sure. The same question kept plaguing her: How could he have _possibly_ forgotten to account for such a likely scenario? Surely he knew that McGonagall, much less Shacklebolt, would not readily accept her on her word alone, given that the woman had already expressed doubts as to Samantha's loyalties.

"Where is your Veritaserum?" Samantha asked at last. This was her plan; she had to stick to it. It was her only chance at answers.

Snape stood and turned to look at her. He was clearly disappointed by her response, but unsurprised. She suspected he was quite used to people not trusting him. Though given his past, she thought it rather warranted.

"Come," he said. "It is in my – _your_ stores."

Samantha quirked an eyebrow at his correction, but moved to follow him. Snape stopped at the door and turned around to face her.

"It would be best if you appear at least somewhat chastened. These portraits may not spread rumors throughout the castle, but Albus must not know about this."

"Why am _I_ to look chastened?" Samantha asked. Snape rolled his eyes.

" _Because_ ," he started, "I am a nasty Death Eater who would not be above threatening bodily harm to get my way. Do try to make it look as if I've done so."

"Fine," she said with an irritated huff, while remembering that he had done just that to McGonagall the day before.

Snape turned on his heel and wrenched the door open, a dark scowl fixed firmly on his face. He stomped across the office and inflicted the same violence upon the office door.

"Out," he growled.

Samantha, Snape was inwardly pleased to find, looked sufficiently repentant and, head bowed, scurried out the door. He slammed it behind him and let out a deep breath. He really was getting quite sick of this act.

The few students who were still filtering out of the Great Hall after having a leisurely dinner watched as Snape strode past them, with Samantha on his heels, nearly at a run. In years gone by, they may have given her looks of sympathy, but now it was suspicion tinged with fear. Snape was not to be trusted for any reason, and Samantha, well, the jury was still out on her loyalties.

Snape abruptly slowed his pace once he reached the last step on the staircase leading to the dungeons. Samantha was only just able to step around him in order to save both of them from a rather inelegant, not to mention painful, tumble to the stone floor.

" _Do you mind?"_ Samantha grumbled as she regained her balance.

Snape furrowed his brows and pursed his lips, an insult ready on the tip of his tongue, but one look at her face made him think better of it. He wasn't sure that he'd ever known someone capable of imposing such restraint on him with nothing but a glance.

As they moved further into the dungeons, Samantha took the lead. Her robes billowed out behind her and the trailing hem snapped loudly against the wall as she rounded the last corner before reaching the lab. Snape, who was following just far enough behind to capture the sight, would have laughed had the situation been different. Even he'd not been able to manage that particular trick before. Not that he would admit to any conscious decision to walk in such a manner that would make his robes billow out behind him, of course.

Snape followed Samantha into the office.

"In," she said imperiously, pointing to the locked and warded door of the lab.

He dutifully allowed her entrance and followed her in.

"Sit there," she pointed to a stool by one of the counters along the wall. "Where is the Veritaserum?"

"It's in that cupboard," Snape said, pointing to a high cupboard, well above Samantha's head, in the corner of the room.

"And I suspect that is warded as well?" Samantha asked, her hands balled into fists and pressed tightly against her hips.

Snape merely nodded and extracted his wand to allow her access.

Samantha pulled a small step stool toward her so that she could reach the vials. He wasn't sure why, but Snape felt… _something_ at the sight, some kind of warmth. He fought the urge to walk up behind her and simply pluck the bottle off the shelf without the aid of a stool.

Having found the vial of the deceptively innocuous-looking clear liquid, Samantha stepped down from the stool and turned around the find Snape staring at her, an almost vacant expression on his face, save for the faint smirk (or was that a smile?) curving his lips. She scowled at him.

"Open," she demanded.

He did as he was told and she administered the requisite three drops. She paused for a moment, thinking, perhaps, that he might have built up a tolerance against it. Did she need to give him more?

"Aren't you going to interrogate me?" Snape asked when she stood motionless, the bottle held in one hand and stopper in the other.

"Quiet," said Samantha, realizing that she hadn't done much more than give him one word commands since they left his office. "I'm trying to decide if I'm going to give you a larger dose."

Snape said nothing and remained silent while waiting for her to make up her mind.

"Again," she said, moving the bottle toward his mouth. Once more, he did as he was told and allowed her to put two more drops on his tongue.

"Satisfied?" He asked after she closed the bottle and placed it on the table behind her.

"We'll see," she answered darkly. "What is your full name?"

"Severus Tobias Snape."

"And your date of birth?" Samantha realized as she asked the question that she had no clue what it was, but forged ahead all the same.

"January 9, 1960," he responded in a flat voice. Either the potion had kicked in or he was good at faking it. She hoped it was the former.

"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?" Samantha asked. Snape winced at the baldness of her question.

"Yes."

"Did he order you to do so?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He had been cursed and I was unable to completely heal him. He would have been dead within the year. After he found out that Draco had been ordered to kill him, he told me that _I_ would have to do it to save Draco," said Snape.

He didn't like talking about it, Samantha could tell, but it was a necessary evil if she was going to trust him.

"Are you loyal to the Dark Lord?"

"No," he answered with as much feeling as was possible under the effects of the potion.

"Were you ever?"

He sighed.

"Yes."

"When?"

"Until he murdered Lily."

"Have you ever murdered anyone?" Samantha asked. It wasn't really pertinent to her line of questioning, but she needed to know.

Snape looked up at her, his eyes unreadable. He seemed to be struggling with an answer.

"Severus, if you try to lie to me, I will not believe a single word you say from here on out," Samantha informed him.

"Not directly."

"What do you mean?"

"I have never directly murdered anyone," he clarified. "But I have been the cause of many deaths."

"And now to my situation," said Samantha, knowing she didn't need to ask any more on that account. "Did it truly not occur to you that my story would have to hold up under Veritaserum?"

"No, it did not."

"And why is that?"

This was the most important question Samantha had. If he was supposed to be the consummate spy, how could he have missed such an obvious flaw in the plan?

"I don't know," he answered simply.

"I beg your pardon?" She asked, not pleased with his explanation.

"There is much I have to do. I have too many lies to keep up and too many people to watch. The thought never crossed my mind. If it had, I would not have suggested the plan."

"Who suggested the change in disciplinary measures?"

"The Dark Lord," said Snape.

"And do you agree?"

"No," he answered, looking at her as though she'd grown a second head.

"What do you plan to do about it?"

"I can't stop it," he said frankly. "But I promised Dumbledore."

"Promised him what?"

"That I would protect the students."

Samantha sighed and leaned against the counter. She knew he was stuck between a rock and a hard place on the matter. How could he possibly fulfill his promise to Dumbledore while upholding this sham of a policy?

"Alright," she said at last. "I don't–"

She stopped herself. Did she really not have any other questions to ask him? No, she could think of one more. Her hesitation lasted only a moment.

"Do you love me?"

Snape stared at her, but didn't look as though he was trying to fight a truthful answer.

"Yes," he answered, his deep voice, though quiet, seemed to reverberate around the small room.

And then there was silence. What was there to say, really? He'd given her nothing but straight answers and she knew that one of the only ways to beat Veritaserum was to skirt the truth. If she had any doubts now, it was due more to rampant paranoia than the reality of the situation. No, now she had the truth, but what was she to do with it?


	27. The Better of Two Evils

Samantha sat on the worktable and put her feet on the rungs of the stool upon which Snape was sitting. She let out a great sigh as she propped her elbows up on her knees, laced her fingers together, and rested her chin upon her folded hands.

"Well," she said lamely.

"Do you love me?" Snape asked quietly, finally breaking the silence that had settled upon the room.

"I didn't think you needed to ask," answered Samantha. "But yes.  And sometimes against my better judgment."

"Why?"

It was such a simple question, but it hurt Samantha to hear him ask it because she knew _why_ he was asking. The Veritaserum aside, she knew he could honestly not think of a reason why someone would love him.

"Had you asked me a month ago, I probably would have told you I hadn't the faintest bloody idea," she said with a rather cheerless laugh.

Samantha remained silent for a moment, staring at her feet as she tried to collect her thoughts.

"Did you know that I never entirely believed what Potter said about–about that night?" She asked at last.

Snape shook his head.

"I'm not sure who I was angriest with; you, him, or myself. I was angry with myself for being blind, for allowing you to fool me. I was angry with Potter for saying it, as if he'd never doubted your ability to do such a thing. And I was angry with you for what you did, toying with me, using me. But underneath everything, I still wasn't quite sure it had all happened as he said it did."

"Why did you doubt Potter? He was there, he saw the whole thing."

Snape shifted on his stool to face Samantha, effectively trapping Samantha's legs between his own.

"Because I know what he's like where you're concerned and I'd also seen the way you'd been acting for weeks before that day. I knew what you'd done the night before," she said pointedly. "Not to mention that I didn't want to come to the conclusion that I'd been well and truly had."

"Samantha, I – that night, it was more selfish than –"

"Quiet," Samantha said at once. "You've done all of your explaining. Besides, you're still under the effects of the potion. I'm not going to put you in a position where you reveal something you would not otherwise have done."

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Samantha put up a finger before he could even draw a breath.

"I was completely useless all summer," she continued. "I didn't eat, I didn't sleep. I was totally confused as to my own feelings on the matter. I mean, I couldn't dispute the fact that you'd – that you'd done what he said you did, but I didn't know _why_ and I knew it was absolutely not as simple as he was making it. All the same, it made me feel like a traitor. Every time someone spoke ill of you, I was offended by it and, in turn, disgusted with myself for feeling like that."

Samantha leaned back on her hands, allowing her head to fall back as a deep sigh was expelled from her lungs.

Staring at the ceiling, she continued, "And then Remus…"

Transfixed though he was by the sight of Samantha laid out before him, the mere mention of Lupin brought him back to his senses.

"I had no hand in that," Snape said before she could stop him. "The Dark Lord was not even aware of it until after Greyback returned to Malfoy Manor to inform him of what he'd done."

"I expected as much," she answered in a voice that belied the sadness stirred up by the memories of that night. "The worst of it is that I was relieved."

"Relieved?" Snape asked, utterly confused.

"Yes," said Samantha, bitterness and guilt coloring her voice. "I was relieved it wasn't news of your death. And I hated myself for it."

Snape wanted to say something, but he hadn't a clue what. Never in all his life had someone spoken to him – _of_ him – in such a way.

"You can see now why Minerva has her suspicions where I am concerned."

He could, but he couldn't force himself to disabuse her of what she was feeling. He settled for a quick nod.

"But that is beside the point," she said more to herself than to Snape. " _The point_ is that in spite of all of the confusion and worry and anger, I still loved you. I _do_ love you. As to the why, just think of all the things I could say that you would object to and that's why."

"So am I worthy of your trust now?"

"Yes," Samantha answered simply. "However, that still doesn't fix the problem. What am I going to do if Kingsley requires questioning me under Veritaserum?"

"That is the question, isn't it?" Snape said with a sigh. "It is possible to skirt the truth. But, loathe though I am to compliment the Ministry on anything, Kingsley knows what questions to ask to greatly reduce any chance of that being successful."

"Well, thank you for putting my fears to rest, Severus," she said sardonically.

"What we have working in our favor is that I am the headmaster and I can make it very difficult for you to leave the castle. Should Minerva inform you that questioning is necessary, _you_ may inform her that I have forbidden you from leaving."

"A caveat to our arrangement? She certainly wouldn't put it past you to have me under surveillance, or at least facing dire circumstances should I make an attempt to leave the castle," said Samantha thoughtfully.

"I suggest you ask Minerva whether or not she's passed on the information to Kingsley."

Samantha nodded.

"Yes, and I'll need something else to give her soon. That can wait, though," she added, almost as an afterthought to herself. "Let's just see if Kingsley takes the bait."

"Well, the Order is not exactly in a position to be picky at this point in time," said Snape, sounding downright petulant.

"The position the Order is in is precisely why they need to be picky, Severus," Samantha corrected him. "We are fragmented, we no longer have a visible head – don't, Severus, I'm not blaming you – and with Potter out God only knows where, there is just too much that cannot be left to chance."

"He's in the countryside," said Snape, quite as though he were reporting on the weather.

Samantha's double take nearly gave her whiplash.

" _What?"_ She demanded. "How on earth do you know that?"

"Granger brought along a portrait of Phineas Nigellus with her. I suppose she didn't think that he readily and willingly answers to me," he explained.

" _I_ suppose she should have known better than to trust a Slytherin headmaster," Samantha said with a smirk.

Snape grabbed Samantha's hand and pulled her upright until she was standing between his legs. She draped her arms over his shoulders as he wrapped his own arms around her waist.

"But you trust this Slytherin headmaster, don't you?" He asked, only half joking.

"Yes, Severus, I trust you," she answered sincerely.

Samantha closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Snape's. As she did so, she realized that every time she was in Snape's arms, she could forget about the war raging around her.

"Why can't this just be over?" She asked in a whisper. "I just want to live, I want _us_ to live, to be together without having to hide it. I don't want to worry about if you're going to make it back to the castle every time you leave."

Snape swallowed heavily and moved one arm up her back to bury his hand in her hair. He tilted his head up to meet her lips. It was an agonizingly soft kiss and, Samantha realized, the first one he had initiated. The thought made her smile against his lips. Upon feeling it, Snape pulled back, a quizzical, and somewhat apprehensive, look on his face.

"It's nothing," she said softly. "It's just, well, that was the first time you kissed me."

"I may not be an expert, but I am _quite_ sure I've kissed you before," he answered.

"No, I mean, I've always kissed you first," she clarified. "I've been waiting a long time for you to do that. I can't always been the one to take the initiative."

He looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to change his mind and remained silent.

"What is it?"

"I'm not used to beautiful women wanting me to kiss them," he answered at last. He was rather surprised by his own honesty. Perhaps the Veritaserum hadn't completely left his system, then.

"Well, feel free to kiss me whenever you want," said Samantha, a smile playing about her lips.

"I intend to," Snape informed her, proving it by putting his words into action.

"Given that the Veritaserum can't have worn off yet," Samantha said, echoing his own thoughts, "I have no doubt that you will."

After a rather enjoyable snogging session, Samantha returned to her rooms in a kind of dreamy daze. She imagined she likely resembled the Lovegood girl. Not to mention that she felt like a teenager again, sneaking around the school for a few stolen kisses. She tried not to think about the reasons why they had to sneak around.

The following day, Samantha resolved to speak with McGonagall about her little "situation." She knew, just as she had the first time around, that if she put it off, she would never do it.

Samantha's chance to catch her came at the end of dinner that evening.

"Minerva," said Samantha, leaning over to allow the woman to hear her over the students' chatter. "May I speak with you in your office after dinner?"

The look on Samantha's face obviously registered with her, for she nodded immediately.

"Of course," she answered.

As the students began filtering out, Samantha and McGonagall left the Great Hall together, headed for the Gryffindor's office.

Snape's black eyes were fixed upon Samantha's retreating form, knowing what conversation was about to take place. His focus was broken, however, when Amycus nudged his shoulder. Snape sneered before turning to face the man.

"I suppose being headmaster has its perks, eh, Snape?" Amycus asked, a rather disgusting smirk on his face.

Snape was in no mood to dignify his insinuation with a response, but knew the issue had to be addressed. He didn't have to make it easy, though.

"I beg your pardon?" Snape responded imperiously.

"You and her, right?"

"And what business is it of yours?" Snape said, being sure to not deny the implication.

"Well, after what you said about her being on our side now, I figured I might have a go at her," said Amycus bluntly. The man really did not have any sense of what was socially acceptable dinner conversation.

"I don't think you will," Snape answered darkly, the threat clear in his voice.

"Fine, fine," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "Let me know when you've finished with her. I can wait my turn."

Snape could feel the bile rising in his throat at the mere thought of Carrow's hands on Samantha.

"Oh, I don't think I'll be finished any time soon," said Snape with a smirk. He needed to put Carrow off her trail without giving the impression that he really cared for her.

"That good, eh?"

Snape said nothing and turned to look at the slowly dwindling number of students left in the hall.

"I guess you have Dumbledore to thank for that," Carrow said callously as he stood.

Snape felt the blood drain from his face. He _did_ have Dumbledore to thank for hiring her on, but that wasn't what Carrow meant. No, he meant that after having killed Dumbledore, he was rewarded with a position in which he could demand Samantha's attentions.

In that moment, Snape was vividly reminded of how the world saw him, the kind of person they thought he was. And, to top it off, there were exactly two people on the entire planet who knew otherwise. Well, one person and a bloody portrait. The rest, however, were completely capable of thinking of him just as Carrow had done; the Dark Lord's loyal servant, Dumbledore's triumphant murderer, the sadistic and merciless headmaster. As he pursued that line of thought, Snape was also reminded of something Samantha had said the previous evening. He just wanted this to be over.

Samantha was feeling roughly the same as she followed McGonagall to her office.

Once the two were seated, Samantha launched into the inevitable. She was sure she could live out her life in utter bliss if she never had to have another conversation like this.

"Have you spoken to Kingsley yet?"

"Yes," said McGonagall. "He was thankful for the information, but wary of its source."

"Which source?" Samantha asked, quite wary herself. "Me or Severus?"

"Both," the woman responded uneasily. "He doesn't know you very well, so he is reticent to put much stock into anything you pass along."

"Fantastic," Samantha sighed.

"He did say that he would feel more comfortable if he could question you himself," said McGonagall.

"Under Veritaserum?"

McGonagall nodded.

"I thought as much."

"You have no objections?"

Samantha shook her head.

"But the problem is that Severus thought as much as well," said Samantha. "He isn't allowing me free rein here. I am not to leave the castle under any circumstances unless I am with him or another Death Eater. Remember, Minerva, he was in the Order as well. He knows the procedures as well as anyone."

"This does complicate matters," McGonagall agreed. "Perhaps if I were to –"

McGonagall went silent when Samantha shook her head again.

"I have no access to Veritaserum. There is none in my stores and I cannot be in the lab without Severus' presence. I doubt he'd take kindly to my brewing it," Samantha said, hoping she didn't sound like she had a convenient out for every suggestion McGonagall made. "Can Kingsley not be persuaded without corroboration under Veritaserum?"

"Honestly? I'm not sure."

She did not sound hopeful.

"Well, he may just have to remain suspicious, then," said Samantha flatly. "I have to appear to the school and the wizarding world at large as having turned against the Order. Severus has demanded it because if any of them should find out that he's passing information, it's his head. Suffice it to say, he's not about to let _me_ be his downfall. Not to mention that I would then lose my source and, in all likelihood, my life. Dedicated as I am, I'd rather make it out of this without becoming a martyr for the cause."

"How did this come about to begin with? Did you approach him?"

"No, not as such," Samantha answered carefully. "I believe I told you before that he still holds some kind of affection for me."

"And I recall expressing my disbelief," said McGonagall.

"Well, he approached me about an arrangement and I decided to take advantage of the situation," she explained. "I know I did it without discussing it with you, but I couldn't exactly tell him that I had to get your permission first. It was a take it or leave it, one time only offer, so I took it."

"I do wonder why the hat thought to put you in Slytherin," McGonagall said, not entirely joking.

"Even we Slytherins can be brave at times, Minerva," said Samantha softly. There was a touch of bitterness in her tone that she struggled to hide. Thankfully, McGonagall gave no indication that she'd noticed it.

"I will talk to Kingsley," she said. "I should have known that Severus would be so thorough in protecting his own hide."

"Yes, well, we Slytherins are also rather good at planning," Samantha said as she stood from her chair. The irony of her statement was lost on McGonagall, which was just as it should be. There was no use in making up excuses if she knew that all of them were only trying to patch up a near fatal flaw in Snape's plan.

Samantha made it through the next three days of classes without incident. She had, in fact, not had to deal with any serious infractions since the new disciplinary measures had been implemented. As far as she knew, the Carrows had not yet had the pleasure of meting out their particular brand of punishment.

That Friday, however, things went to hell in a hand basket. She had thought she'd be able to make it through the week without dealing with errant students, but it was not to be. In her last class of the day, comprised of the Gryffindor and Slytherin fourth years, one of the Gryffindors – Dennis Creevey – got it in his head to sabotage a Slytherin's potion just before the students were to hand in their work. Samantha later found out that it had been a dare the boy was simply incapable of declining.

Idiotic though his actions were, Samantha would have done nothing more than dock points and set him to cleaning cauldrons. Or perhaps write an essay on the potion, detailing why one should not deliberately botch it. She might have gotten away with it, had the ever-noble House of Slytherin not been involved. There were certainly no Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs who would go running to the Carrows to complain about it. With the Slytherins, however, it was a guarantee that one of them would hear about it before dinner.

"Mr. Creevey!" Samantha shouted as she withdrew her wand to vanish the mess. "You will see me immediately after class to discuss your detention. Mr. Spinks, I will give you full points for class today, despite the lack of a final product."

The Gryffindors immediately began to voice their disagreement with her decision.

"Do _not_ test me," she said dangerously, her wand still at the ready. She had, of course, no intent of using it, but _they_ didn't know that.

In all honesty, the last time she had checked on the boy's potion, it had been progressing just as it should have been. While the final product may not have been perfect, his performance in class on a regular basis suggested that it would have been at the very least adequate. The Gryffindors might have seen it as Slytherin favoritism rivaling even Snape's, but it was, in fact, a very rational, fair decision.

As Creevey approached her desk after she had dismissed the class, she felt a pang of regret for what she was about to do. He was a tiny thing and looked more like he belonged with the second years. How would he survive his detention? He was a Gryffindor _and_ a Muggleborn; the boy would be lucky to make it out alive. Well, there was only one thing for it. She would have to make sure she was present to ensure his safety as best she could.

"You will be serving your detention with Professor Carrow," she said as dismissively as she could manage.

Despite her attempt, Creevey seemed to sense exactly how serious his situation was. Though, as far as she knew, no student had served a detention with him yet, the fact that Amycus Carrow was a Death Eater in a school run by a Death Eater was enough to terrify the boy.

"When?" Creevey asked in a quavering voice.

"You will meet me in the Entrance Hall this evening at half past seven and we will go from there," she answered.

He seemed relieved to hear that she would be going with him. While not a terribly good thing for her – and Snape's – cover story, she wasn't about to let him face it alone.

At dinner that evening, Samantha did little more than push her food around her plate. She tried not to look as nervous as she felt, but she was rather confident that she was failing miserably.

"What's wrong?" McGonagall asked after watching Samantha stare rather listlessly at her plate for most of dinner.

"I had to give out a detention today," she answered quietly.

McGonagall immediately grasped the gravity of the situation.

"Who was it?"

"Dennis Creevey," said Samantha. She could feel the bile rising in throat at the mere thought of what she was about to put the boy through.

"Oh, Merlin," McGonagall said with a gasp.

"Minerva, you must know that it was out of my hands," Samantha said quickly. Having been the first one to give out a detention, and to a Gryffindor no less, did not do much for her case. "It was in a Gryffindor-Slytherin class. It would have gotten back to them if I'd ignored it."

"I understand," McGonagall replied stiffly, sounding rather like she didn't understand at all.

"I – I'm going with him. I will do the best I can to protect him. You have my word."

McGonagall apparently had nothing more to say on the matter and so simply nodded her head.

What was there to say, really? They all knew that it had to happen sooner or later. One of them was bound to be forced into it. That did not mean, however, that Samantha felt any better about having to be the first.

Samantha looked down the table to see Alecto Carrow just finishing her meal, while Amycus was nowhere in sight. She glanced toward Snape, who showed no sign of alarm or even acknowledgement that his Dark Arts teacher was not present.

Before Samantha gave up on having the detention that evening, she saw Alecto rise and walk toward her. Samantha stood before the woman reached her chair.

"Professor Carrow," said Samantha stiffly. She may have to act like she was on their side, but that didn't mean she had to be nice about it. Snape certainly wasn't.

"Rhodes," the woman responded, apparently thinking it unnecessary to use Samantha's proper title.

Samantha grit her teeth, but did not correct her. It would not do to anger her if she was about to say what Samantha expected her to say.

"I heard Creevey attacked one of ours today."

One of _ours_? Well, that was something, she supposed.

"He attacked their potion, but there was no physical harm done and Mr. Spinks was given his points for the day," Samantha explained. She hoped she didn't sound like she was defending Creevey, but she thought it important to get the facts straight.

"Right," said Alecto. She didn't sound particularly interested in the details. "Get the boy."

"Excuse me?"

"Get the boy to serve his detention."

"I was under the impression that it was your brother who was tasked with detentions," said Samantha, not quite sure why she was trying to delay the inevitable. Could one possibly be worse than the other?

"He's not here, so it's up to me tonight."

The excited anticipation in the woman's voice made Samantha sick to her stomach.

"Very well," she said.

Samantha looked over Alecto's shoulder at the Gryffindor table. After scanning it twice, she saw that Creevey was not there. She suspected that he would be in his dormitory.

"I will go fetch him and meet you in your classroom."

"Fine by me," said Alecto before stalking off to the staff door.

Knowing that Snape should be informed of the night's events, she stopped by his chair before leaving the hall.

"Severus," she said quietly.

Snape turned to face her. Samantha could tell that he was, for some reason, not aware of the detention. She wondered how he'd made it through the day without catching wind of it.

"Dennis Creevey has a detention this evening," she said simply, knowing that he would catch on. "I will be… _assisting_ Alecto."

"Very well," Snape said in a low voice. "Come to my office when you've – when it's over."

Samantha nodded and straightened back up. She strode quickly out of the hall in the direction of the staircase that would take her to Gryffindor tower.

"I need Dennis Creevey," Samantha said to the Fat Lady as she approached the portrait.

The woman disappeared from her frame and returned a moment later.  The portrait swung open to reveal the small, trembling boy.

"Come," she said, extending her arm to show the way. "Professor Carrow is out, so his sister will be supervising your detention."

"Yes, professor," said Creevey in little more than a whisper.

They walked swiftly, though Samantha did have to slow down more than once for the boy to catch up. The staircases, apparently, decided not to send them on a detour and so the pair was soon approaching what had been Samantha's Muggle Studies classroom.

Samantha placed a hand on Creevey's shoulder as she knocked on the door. She opened it before receiving an answer and directed him inside, keeping her hand firmly on his shoulder.

The room was dark with nothing but shafts of pale blue moonlight coming in through the mullioned windows. Samantha looked around the room and found Alecto seated behind her desk. It was clear that she had been waiting eagerly for their arrival. She stood and moved quickly around her desk, in front of which she stopped to wait for them to approach her. The shadows that fell across her face made her look monstrous. It was, Samantha decided, rather fitting.

"Come here, boy," she said coldly.

Creevey looked up at Samantha, who nodded and gave his shoulder a gentle push to force him into motion. He stumbled up the center aisle toward Carrow, looking all the world like he was making his way to the gallows. It was Samantha's job to make sure that he wasn't.

"What do you know about the Cruciatus Curse?" She asked when he reached the front of the room. She sounded like she was enjoying herself.

As Creevey struggled to string an answer together, Samantha moved quickly and quietly up the aisle herself. She stopped a few feet away.

"It's an Unforgivable," he answered in a tremulous voice.

Alecto pursed her lips and rolled her head back and forth, as though she wasn't particularly satisfied with his answer.

"For some," she said. "Not for me. You see, I've been given permission by the Dark Lord himself to discipline you little brats as I see fit. And I think the Cruciatus should do nicely, don't you agree?"

Samantha saw Creevey's jaw drop. Clearly he'd been anticipating something unpleasant, but certainly nothing near what Carrow was implying.

Carrow drew her wand and pointed it at the boy, but she remained silent. After a moment, an evil look came upon her face.  Her eyes and wand moved to Samantha.

"Do it," Alecto demanded, her wand trained on Samantha.

"I beg your pardon?" Samantha asked, making no move for her wand.

"Cast the curse or you'll both get it twice as bad," she said, her voice dripping with malice.

"I will not!" Samantha shouted back.

In the back of her mind, she knew she was making a mistake and that she should have complied with the woman's demands, but she could not bring herself to torture the child.

" _Crucio!"_ Alecto shrieked.

Samantha fell to the stone floor, agony scorching through her very veins. She had never been on the receiving – nor the casting – end of the Cruciatus. The pain was so intense that her brain simply ceased to function.

And then suddenly, it was gone, or the worst of it, at any rate. Through the haze of receding pain, Samantha saw Alecto turn to face the student.

"Stop!" Samantha said weakly. "I'll do it! I'll do it."

Alecto smiled malevolently and her eyes sparked as she watched Samantha struggle to her feet. Samantha extracted her wand from her sleeve and looked down at the boy. He looked so very young, the fear painfully clear on his face. Slowly, she pointed her wand at him. The hate needed to cast the curse came easily enough, though it was directed at herself and the evil woman beside her.

" _Crucio,"_ said Samantha in an even voice.

She watched in horror as he fell to the floor just as she had. His moans of pain echoed around the room, his face and body contorted in the agony brought on by the curse. Samantha knew with awful certainty that the sound of the boy's cries would haunt her for the rest of her life.

After a few moments Samantha lowered her wand, breathing heavily in the aftermath. She had never cast an Unforgivable before and had not anticipated the feeling of power that coursed through her. She was enthralled despite herself. All the same, she hoped she would never be put in a position to do it again. If only because she was afraid of the dark pull it possessed.

Alecto must have noticed the look in her eyes, for when Samantha glanced in her direction, she saw a knowing smile stretch across the woman's face.

"Go back to your dormitory," said Samantha quietly.

Creevey did immediately as he was told and scampered out of the room as best he could.

"Happy?" Samantha spat at Alecto before turning and leaving the room herself.

Though Samantha knew she was supposed to report to Snape after the detention, she wanted nothing more than to sit in her room to think over what she'd done. She had cast an Unforgivable – on a child, no less. Yes, she deserved to dwell on her sins, to remind herself of the evil she'd committed. The only redeeming value she could see in what she'd done came from the knowledge that Carrow would have tortured the boy to the brink of insanity. She had been able to save him from a considerable amount of pain, even as she had to inflict her own.

The thought did not comfort her in the least. In the end, she had been nothing more than the better of two evils.


	28. Stranglehold

By the time late morning rolled around, Snape was starting to worry. When Samantha hadn't come to talk to him about the detention the previous evening, he wrote it off. If something truly gruesome had occurred, he was sure that Alecto would have been the first to march triumphantly into his office and relish in relating the entirety of the scene in agonizing detail. As he had heard nothing from the lunatic woman, he concluded that perhaps Samantha had been tired and had simply forgotten. But he had thought that she'd seek him out sooner rather than later the following day.

And it was thus that Snape found himself making his way down from his tower to Samantha's first floor quarters. Stopping at her door, he knocked and waited for an answer. Receiving none after a few moments, he knocked again.

"Professor Rhodes?" He called, starting to worry, though making sure to observe formalities should there be any lurking students in the corridors who might hear him. Surely she was awake by now, it was nearly noon.

Still nothing. Snape put his hand on the doorknob and turned. It opened without protest. No wards prevented his entrance. Either Samantha had forgotten to put them up the previous night or perhaps it was another one of those headmaster perks. He hoped it wasn't one that went into effect in the event of an emergency.

Walking into the room, Snape saw that there was a roaring fire going and a steaming cup of tea on a side table. He made his way further into the room and, upon rounding the couch, saw Samantha curled up in the corner, staring vacantly at the fire. Her arm was propped up on the arm of the couch, her head leaning against her hand. Her other hand was resting in her lap, a string of beads was wound tightly around her balled up fist.

"Samantha," he said quietly.

"Severus," she whispered in reply, though she made no move to face him. "You can sit."

Snape chose to sit near the middle of the couch. Not so close that he was touching her, but enough to, he thought, be a comforting presence should she need it. Snape looked down at her hand again. She was clutching the beads so tightly that her fingers had gone white.

Samantha looked at him then and followed his gaze to the hand in her lap. She raised her hand to eye level, her grip loosening slightly to allow the string of beads to slide from her hand. They swung back and forth; the gold cross that dangled at the end reflected the firelight.

"It's a rosary," she said by way of explanation.

Snape showed no sign of comprehension. Samantha shook her head and shrugged, as if to say that it was inconsequential.

"For praying," she said simply. "Something I haven't done in longer than I care to think about. Unfortunately, it doesn't appear to be working at the moment."

"What happened?"

Samantha sighed.

"I'm surprised _Professor_ Carrow didn't come cackling to you about it the moment I dismissed Creevey," said Samantha. "I am quite sure she and her evil bastard of a brother had a good laugh over it, though."

"Over what?" Snape asked, his voice dropping in his anxiety.

"She tortured me until I did the same to the boy."

" _What?"_ He hissed.

Samantha stared at him in surprise.  She was certain the headmaster’s office would be Carrow’s first port of call.  She took a breath to recount the story.

"When Creevey and I arrived, she told me to cast the Cruciatus Curse on him. When I refused, she said that she would do it to us both if I didn't. I refused again and so she made good on her word. I told her to stop when she was finished with me. I knew that if she had a go on him, she'd kill him, so I – I did it. I cast an Unforgivable. The Cruciatus Curse. On a thirteen-year-old boy. A child."

Samantha went quiet; her grip on the beads was once again white-knuckle. Snape watched her, looking for any kind of reaction, but there was nothing other than the circular indentations on her hand from the beads to give any hint as to her state of mind. Snape suspected she was in shock. He had been too the first time he'd cast that particular curse. But he couldn't compare them. At the time, he'd wanted to do it, or at least wanted to prove to his peers that he could muster up the power to do it. Samantha certainly had a temper, but torture was simply not in her vocabulary.

"And then what?" Snape asked, breaking the silence.

She just looked at him, her eyes completely blank.

"And then nothing," she said. "I dismissed him, asked her if she was happy, and left. I came back here, drank a bottle of Dreamless Sleep, and passed out on the couch vaguely hoping I'd never wake up."

"Come here," Snape whispered.

Samantha moved over the couch. When she came within reach, Snape pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms tightly about her. She rested her head in the crook of his neck and breathed deeply.

In the back of his mind, Snape marveled at the very idea that all he need do is open his arms and she willingly fell into them. Any sexual feelings on the matter aside, that she still trusted him, even after all that he'd done, was more than he could hope for or even comprehend. It was, truly, the only thing getting him through his days.

"I can't do that again, Severus," said Samantha finally after a long silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don't," Snape assured her as he stroked her hair. "Needless to say, the Dark Lord will hear about her actions."

Samantha shuddered.

"And he'll do the same to her, I expect?"

"He will likely make me do it," Snape said truthfully. "It would not be the first time."

"What?" Samantha asked, lifting her head to look him in the eye. "Severus, if he's going to make you do it, I don't want you to tell him."

"He will find out and if I am not the one to tell him, I'll be on the other end of the wand," he explained. "And, as I said, it wouldn't be the first time. Who do you think punished Greyback and Dolohov for attacking you?"

Samantha's mouth dropped open. Snape winced, instantly regretting his words.

"Severus!" Samantha just short of shrieked. "Why am I only now hearing about this?"

"It wasn't important," he answered.

"The hell it isn't. And I don't want you forced into it again on my account."

"It is unavoidable, Samantha," said Snape with a sigh. "I _must_ tell him. Given our relationship and the fact that I am the headmaster, I am positive that he will tell me to do it."

Samantha grumbled unintelligibly, but soon quieted and laid her head back on his shoulder.

"Severus," she said quietly after a moment of silence.

Snape hummed in response.

"I need something to give to Minerva."

He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out before speaking.

"The Muggleborn Commission is not as innocuous as it seems," he stated.

"I was unaware that anyone thought it was innocuous. What's changed?"

"Let's just say that the Snatchers are going to look like a street gang in a matter of weeks," he explained. "There are going to be systematic raids of the homes of Muggleborns. Even the children. Sympathizers will also, in all likelihood, be included in their list."

"So it won't just be adult witches and wizards anymore, will it?"

Snape shook his head.

"It will be Muggle homes in Muggle neighborhoods," said Samantha quietly, the worry creeping into her voice. "And they aren't going to use a simple Obliviate when they're done, are they?"

"No," he answered. "They won't. There will be no need when they're done."

"Severus, they're not – they can't. They can't _kill_ them all, can they?"

"They will start with torture. It won't be long before it escalates, though. It is only a matter of time."

"And this will happen…?" Samantha asked, wondering how the Order could go about warning every Muggleborn in the country that their families are in danger.

"Within the next three or four weeks," Snape answered. "Tell them to use Potterwatch. It will be the fastest way to tell those who need to hear it."

Samantha pursed her lips in thought before taking a breath to speak.

"Kingsley does not entirely trust me. Minerva said that he wanted to question me under Veritaserum," Samantha said with a roll of her eyes.

"And?"

"I explained to her what we discussed. She seemed resigned to the fact that it would be nearly impossible to accomplish."

Snape nodded absently.

"We dodged a bullet, Severus," said Samantha in a serious tone. "I don't even want to think about what might have happened if I'd had to go through with an interrogation."

"On the bright side," said Snape sarcastically, "the reality is far less distasteful than the lie we're giving them."

"I just don't understand why they can't know. They kept your cover for years, why should it be any different now?"

Snape scrubbed a hand over his face before answering. He was simply exhausted.

" _You_ aren't even supposed to know," he said bitterly. "It is on Dumbledore's orders. It is a moot point now anyway. None of them would think to trust me as you have."

"Yes, well, I used Veritaserum, didn't I?" Samantha asked sardonically. "That's a rather foolproof way to get the truth."

"I _cannot_ ," said Snape with finality. "Anyone who knows my true loyalties now is in more danger than they ever were before. In any case, I don't believe any of them are capable of acting as though they hate me as they do right now without knowing the truth. They may have kept my cover before, but I, as far as the Dark Lord was concerned, also had a cover to keep with them."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Selfishness," he answered flatly. "I never wanted to put you in danger, but I selfishly wanted your trust back."

"Well, you have it. Now," said Samantha, wrapping her arms around his neck, "how about I pay you back for that little piece of intelligence?"

Samantha needed the distraction more than she could possibly put into words and Snape was seemingly more than happy to oblige.  A good snog seemed to do wonders for both of their moods.

That was, however, until Minerva McGonagall flooed unannounced into her room only to see Snape laying on top of Samantha the moment she stepped out of the fireplace.

Both Snape's and Samantha's heads turned as one to face the silently horrified woman. Snape could see her indignation building. Not more than a year ago, he would have taken pleasure in baiting her until she boiled over. Now, however, that contentious camaraderie was gone for good. He thus wisely decided to refrain from giving her any more reason to let loose the stream of invective he was sure she was struggling to restrain.

Without a word, Snape pushed himself up from his position on top of Samantha, pulling her up along with him. Once righted, he straightened his coat, buttoning the buttons that Samantha had managed to undo, and cast an imperious glance at McGonagall before turning back to Samantha.

"Professor," he said with a dip of his head.

"Headmaster," Samantha responded.

Snape looked once more at McGonagall before turning on his heel and marching out of the room.

"Samantha!" McGonagall said breathlessly, her tone edging on the accusatory.

"You could have warned me!" Samantha nearly shouted, throwing up her hands in exasperation. "What is so important that you had to floo in here without so much as a by-your-leave?"

"Severus is about to find out," she answered. "Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood have just been caught trying to steal Gryffindor's sword right out of his office."

" _What?"_ Samantha asked, shouting properly now. "Who caught them?"

"Filch."

"And? What's to happen now?" Samantha asked, smoothing down her clothes and hair.

"I came here to ask if you could find that out," said McGonagall, agitation and anxiety clear in her voice. "Filch went straight to Amycus and now he's got them locked up in his office."

"And what am I supposed to do about it?"

McGonagall looked pointedly at the couch. Samantha followed her line of sight and, upon realizing what the woman was implying, squeezed her eyes shut and let out a harsh breath.

"I'll do what I can," Samantha said flatly. "You said they are in Amycus' office?"

McGonagall nodded.

"Alright, I'll go. I will let you know if I can find out anything."

Samantha rushed toward the door, McGonagall on her heels, and grabbed her robes before closing the door behind her. The two women parted ways, McGonagall to the Gryffindor common room and Samantha to the Dark Arts classroom.

She didn't get far before Snape came bursting out of the room, holding Longbottom by the collar with the remaining two in tow, each being manhandled by a Carrow.

"I don't understand why I can't handle this," Amycus was saying, sounding rather disappointed.

"Because I said so," Snape answered pitilessly. "It was _my_ office and _I_ shall discipline them as I see fit."

"Headmaster?" Samantha asked as Snape approached.

Snape stopped when he saw her. He looked back at the Carrows.

"Alecto, Amycus, we are finished here," he said in clear dismissal.

The siblings stared at him, gaping. Snape raised an eyebrow, as if to dare them to contradict him.

"Escort these two to my office," Snape instructed Samantha, flicking his head toward Luna and Ginny.

Knowing that she had to keep in character, Samantha set her face and approached the pair.

"Ladies," she sneered at them before grasping the backs of their necks rather more roughly than necessary. The two winced and Samantha did so inwardly along with them.

She steered them along behind Snape, all three women working to keep up with his long strides.

The gargoyle guarding Snape's office leapt aside when Snape growled at it as he approached. He roughly shoved Neville up the stairs, nearly causing him to fly headlong into the door at the top of the staircase.

With an agitated swish of his wand, Snape conjured a third chair in front of his desk. He practically threw Neville into it as Samantha roughly pushed the girls into the two remaining chairs. She moved to stand beside Snape's desk, her arms crossed.

"Do you realize the trouble you are in, Mr. Longbottom?" Snape snarled at the boy as he gripped the arms of his chair, their faces mere inches apart.

To his credit, Neville didn't flinch, but there was definitely fear in his eyes.

“It’s not stealing when it’s not yours,” Longbottom muttered.

“Say that again.” Snape challenged him.

It seemed the boy’s bravado had abandoned him, for he remained silent.  Snape straightened suddenly and touched his chin with his pointer finger.

"What shall we do with you three?" He asked softly, his eyes glittering with malevolence.

Samantha had to marvel at his ability to terrorize.

"Professor? What do you think?" Snape asked, turning back to her.

She was able to catch herself from gaping at him. Instead, she plastered a smirk on her face and shrugged.

"Detentions are, of course, in order," she answered.

The shiver that ran through the assembled students was immediate. They had, obviously, already heard about Creevey's detention. That also meant, however, that they would have also heard about her own experience. It would certainly explain the rather odd look Ginny Weasley was giving her.

"Indeed," he said. "You three will spend every evening next week serving detention."

Samantha had to fight the urge to ask him to reconsider. They would never survive a week under Carrow's wand.

"You will serve those detentions," he continued, "with Hagrid."

Samantha was both relieved and shocked at how lightly they were getting off. How would Snape explain this one away? She would certainly need an answer for McGonagall.

"You aren't as bad as they say you are," said Luna dreamily.

Her fellow students gaped at her in horror. Samantha fought the urge to laugh while Snape simply glared sourly at the girl.

"I assure you that I am, Miss Lovegood," said Snape with frightening certainty. "You will all return to your common rooms immediately, _no detours_."

The trio stood and just short of stampeded toward the door. She suspected they were trying to get out before Snape regained his senses and decided to inflict either of the Carrows on them.

The moment the door closed, Samantha turned to face Snape. He shook his head.

"In there," he said, pointing to the door to his private rooms.

Before they could make their escape, a familiar aged voice made his presence in his portrait known.

" _Severus,"_ Dumbledore said in warning.

Snape stopped and sighed before turning to face the portrait.

"Albus," he answered simply.

Samantha stood looking between the two, unsure of what to do. It was clear that Dumbledore had become quite aware of Snape's duplicity.

"I think you both have some explaining to do," said Dumbledore, eyeing both Snape and Samantha.

"Sir, if I may, Severus only confirmed the doubts I already had regarding his actions," Samantha explained, trying to shift some of the blame onto herself.

"I think he did more than that," he said sternly. "You two have made plans of your own, haven't you?"

"I told you that I needed a way to get information to the Order, Albus. She is able to do that and _has_ done that," said Snape, sounding rather defiant.

Before Dumbledore could respond, someone started pounding on Snape's office door. Snape crossed the room in three long strides and wrenched the door open.

"What?" He growled.

"Those little bastards have done it again!" Amycus shouted.

Snape's face was thunderous as he followed Carrow down the staircase, Samantha right behind him. Carrow led them to the Entrance Hall, where a large crowd of students had gathered, all gaping at the entrance to the Great Hall.

Carrow roughly shoved students aside as he and Snape made their way closer to the doors. There, above the doors, "Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting!" was emblazoned in three-foot high lettering. Samantha, who had brought up the rear, sighed and clapped a hand to her forehead.

Snape whirled around to face the students. He scanned their faces, clearly trying to find the culprits who, unsurprisingly, were not among the crowd.

"The students who did this," said Snape, pointing toward the graffiti, " _will_ be found and they will be made an example of. In the meantime, all students are forbidden from forming or attending meetings of any student organizations unless I myself have approved it. The consequences of violating this rule will be… _dire_. Now, return to your common rooms. Immediately."

As the students dispersed, Carrow began making his case.

"We all know it was the Longbottom boy who did this. The Dark Lord told me to discipline the little blighters, so I don't see why I can't have a go at him."

"We _don't_ know that," said Snape silkily. "If we should find that he did, by all means, have a 'go' at him. Until that time, he shall serve the detentions I have seen fit to assign."

"You're not givin' 'em to me and Alecto?" He asked, sounding distinctly disappointed.

"They will be accompanying Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest."

Carrow took a breath to argue, but Snape cut him off.

"I assure you, the task will be punishment enough. The creatures living there are not so benign as the oaf seems to think."

Snape hated having to insult Hagrid. Bright though the man may not be, his loyalty, once given, was steadfast. He had been one of the few to treat Snape with respect, perhaps based on a shared sense of exclusion from the wizarding world, alongside Dumbledore's evident trust in him. Whatever the reason, he had been grateful for it and treating him as nothing more than the subhuman Voldemort and his followers thought he was left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Why don't you just have _her_ do it?" Carrow asked, nodding toward Samantha. "Alecto told me she could use a little practice. Said she doesn't quite have the stomach for it yet. Unless you don't want your little plaything getting her hands dirty."

"Why you –"

" _Enough,"_ Snape hissed, stopping Samantha before she could get started. "I have made my decision and, in case you have forgotten, _I_ am the headmaster and you _will_ abide by it. You may recall that I _do_ have the stomach for discipline, Amycus."

Carrow took a step back from Snape, looking chastened and just a little nervous. He was, after all, picking a fight with the man who killed Albus Dumbledore.

"And speaking of Alecto," Snape continued, "go inform your sister that I wish to have a word with her after dinner regarding last night's activities."

Nodding sharply, Carrow took his leave. And not a moment too soon, as Samantha was near her breaking point.

"Not here," said Snape in a low voice.

Snape led Samantha down to the dungeons and into the lab. He wisely cast a strong _Muffliato_ the moment he closed the door.

"If that bastard is going to speak to me like that, I _will_ develop the stomach for torture!" Samantha shouted, her voice getting louder as she spoke.

"No you won't," said Snape quietly. "You're not like us."

Samantha whirled around to face Snape, concern etched into her features.

"You mean 'them,' don't you?"

Snape shook his head.

"You felt the power when you cast _Crucio_ ," he said. "And it made you sick, made you feel guilty, didn't it?"

"Yes," Samantha answered carefully.

"And you would feel like that regardless of who was on the other end of your wand," said Snape. It was not a question. "That surge of power, for me, is a thrill."

"I felt it too," she said in little more than a whisper. "The guilt was there after, but not while I was doing it."

Snape looked at Samantha with an intensity that made her uneasy.

"I never want to do it again because I don't want to know where that road leads," she continued.

Snape spread his arms wide.

"Take a good look," he said with a sneer.

Samantha approached Snape and placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him down onto one of the stools.

"You are not that man, Severus," Samantha told him. "You aren't like them. They have no conscience; they feel no guilt for what they've done."

"And yet I do it all the same."

"Because you must," she amended.

"For the greater good? All manner of sins have been committed with that excuse."

Samantha ran her fingers through his hair, her hand coming to rest at the back of his head. She rubbed her thumb across his cheek as she tilted his head up to face her, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"These are extraordinary circumstances. We are all forced to do things we would rather not do," she said pointedly as a reminder of what she'd had to do the previous night. "You are not the man who took the Mark all those years ago. Your desire for redemption is so great…"

Samantha trailed off and a faraway look crossed her face. She gave him a small smile.

"You would be a great Catholic," she said with a soft chuckle. "All that guilt, feelings of worthlessness, an unquenchable desire for redemption; yes, you'd fit right in."

Snape cocked his head in confusion.

"Why did you look so peaceful when we went on Christmas? And every time you'd gone, when you got back –"

Samantha shook her head.

"Hard as it is to understand, peace and guilt don't have to be mutually exclusive."

" _Really?"_ Snape asked sarcastically.

"Yes, really," she said, playfully shoving him. "Any guilt I've ever had has made me feel like I'm on the right track, that my moral compass is in working order, that I'm going in the right direction. There is, _I_ think, a certain amount of peace in that."

"Perhaps my 'moral compass' is working, but you have nowhere near as far to travel as I do."

"Oh, Severus," said Samantha with a sigh. "Whatever am I going to do with you?"

Snape raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer her.

"Perhaps, while are down here, we should get some work done," he suggested. "Some healing potions may not be amiss."

Samantha's expression became serious once more and she nodded before beginning to gather equipment and ingredients.

By the time dinner rolled around, they had made healing pastes for bruises and burns and started the base for the Blood-Replenishing Potion.

Just as Snape moved to open the door to the lab, Samantha placed a hand on his to stop him from turning the knob. When he turned to look at her, the question clear on his face, she smiled and placed a hand on his cheek to draw his face to hers. She kissed him sweetly before pulling back to allow him to open the door.

As they walked side-by-side to the Great Hall, Snape thought he could get used to spending afternoons like this. If they survived this and, of course, won this war, he liked to think that Samantha wouldn't mind obliging him. He knew absolutely at that moment that he could think of nothing better than spending the rest of his days with the woman at his side. The thought nearly stopped him in his tracks. He was sure it was a feeling that had been lurking somewhere in his subconscious, but it had never been so clear as it was in that moment. It carried with it the kind of certitude that he did not often feel.

These thoughts of future happiness swiftly fled from his mind the moment they stepped into the Great Hall. He had still not grown used to the hundreds of faces sneering at him with unbridled hatred in their eyes. On top of that, Alecto Carrow was glaring the proverbial daggers at him from her seat at the head table.

Ah yes, he would be forced to speak with her after dinner. Snape suddenly felt his appetite leave him. He could well imagine the rant she would unleash on him the moment his office door closed.

Upon further inspection of the table's occupants, he noticed a conspicuously empty seat directly next to his. He quickly saw that McGonagall had left her usual chair vacant and had, instead, opted for Samantha's. He was fairly certain that the rearrangement was due in large part to the day's events. Casting a sidelong glance at Samantha as they made their way up the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables, he saw that she too had noticed the change. There was a look of consternation on her face, but it was soon replaced with a neutral mask. Good girl.

As they took their seats, there were a few curious glances from the students, most of whom were Slytherins. They were typically the only students who would take note of such things as seating arrangements, given that many of them had grown up in households in which the location of one's chair with regards to the head of the table carried deep meaning. After all, they were the most preoccupied with hierarchies. That Samantha was now seated directly next to the headmaster spoke volumes to them. Even if neither of them had any idea that she was about to be awarded such a place of honor until that very moment.

Samantha sat stiffly beside Snape's chair, trying to avoid McGonagall's eyes, all the while knowing that she would have to speak with the woman sooner rather than later to pass on her latest intelligence, as well as inform her of the fate of her students.

Rather than rounding the table to sit, Snape strode to the front of the dais to address the students.

"Silence," Snape's voice boomed over the chattering students. "As some of you are already aware, I have decided to ban the formation or continued existence of any student organizations that I have not personally approved."

The groan that surged forth was quickly quelled by Snape's sweeping glare.

"Any students caught breaking this rule will face a _highly_ unpleasant punishment."

With that, Snape turned on his heel and made his way to the head chair between Samantha and Amycus.

After his announcement, dinner was a subdued affair, though it was obvious from the tone of the students' conversations that they were discussing the injustice of it all. Which it undoubtedly was, but, in the end, it was for their protection. The more ways Snape could find to keep them out of trouble meant less opportunity for the Carrows to get their hands on them. Perhaps, once this was all over, they would see his actions for what they were. Though he sincerely doubted any of them would get over their dislike any time soon, no matter his intentions.

Before Samantha could get away, McGonagall leaned over to engage her in conversation.

"I had a most interesting conversation with Mr. Longbottom and Miss Weasley," she said without preamble.

"Did you?" Samantha murmured in response.

"It seems Severus has given them detentions with Hagrid, of all people."

Her tone suggested she didn't entirely believe the story she'd been told.

"He did."

McGonagall's eyebrows shot up at Samantha's confirmation.

"Did you say anything?"

Samantha shook her head.

"Then why did he do it?"

"Contrary to what you may believe, Minerva, I am not privy to the inner workings of Severus Snape's mind," said Samantha curtly. She wasn't entirely sure why she was so annoyed by McGonagall's questions.

The woman shrank back a little at Samantha's sharp tone.

"Well, given the position I found you in this–"

"I am _not_ discussing this here," she hissed in a harsh whisper.

McGonagall clearly took affront to Samantha's attitude, but gave up any attempt to continue the conversation.

The moment the students began to filter out of the hall, Samantha saw Snape stand and beckon for Alecto to follow him. The children parted like the Red Sea as Snape made his way down the center aisle toward the doors, Alecto in his wake.

Snape had seen the look on Samantha's face as McGonagall spoke to her. He had an idea what the topic at hand was and her terse tone of voice, though he could not make out any specific words, was a clear indication of what Samantha thought of whatever it was McGonagall was saying.

As he thought about this, as well as the woman following on his heels, he regretted having brought Samantha into this mess. She had been tortured by Alecto and was treated with suspicion and, he was sure, a touch of revulsion by McGonagall. The look on her face when she'd caught them that morning was all he needed to see to know what the woman thought of their relationship. He wondered what she would think if she knew the truth.

Upon reaching his office, he strode through the door leaving Alecto to follow behind him. He would have normally allowed a woman to enter before he did, but he felt no need to observe such niceties with Alecto Carrow.

"Sit," he commanded.

She glared at him, but did as he said.

"What did you think you were doing last night?" He asked in a deceptively soft voice.

"She needs to learn her place!" Carrow cried defiantly.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"And that is your role? The Dark Lord gave you the task of disciplining the students, but he did _not_ grant you permission to break in _my_ staff."

"She's different," she replied petulantly.

"Is she?" Snape asked sarcastically.

"She's one of us, ain't she," Alecto explained. "Amycus told me about you and her–"

" _Precisely_. She and I," Snape cut in. "I believe any reprimand she may need would thus be within my purview. She is _mine_ to manage."

This wasn't the argument he'd been prepared to make, but it would, he decided, hold up reasonably well with both the Carrows and Voldemort.

"Now, is this something I need to bring to the Dark Lord?" Snape asked.

Alecto shook her head.

"Good. If you don't mind," he continued, "I have work to do."

Snape sat down at his desk and picked up a quill. Alecto rightly took this as a dismissal and shuffled out of the office.

"Severus," came Dumbledore's voice from behind him.

Snape turned to look over his shoulder at the portrait hung behind his chair.

"I believe you now have the explanation you wanted earlier," said Snape curtly. "I will not discuss this further."

He threw the quill down on the desk, stood abruptly, and walked across the room to the entrance to his private quarters. Once inside, he slammed the door shut behind him and slid down the wood toward the cool stone floor. His legs were sprawled out in front of him and his hands rested in his lap.

After a moment, he reached up to unbutton his jacket and untie the cravat that seemed more constricting than ever. He snorted mirthlessly at the metaphor.

"Story of my life," Snape muttered bitterly to himself.

He pulled the silken material from around his neck and allowed his hand to fall bonelessly back to his lap. Snape leaned more fully on the door, his head making a soft thud as it fell back. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths.

Snape wasn't sure that he could handle many more days like this one. He hoped against hope, something he didn't often allow himself to do, that his universal dressing down would keep at least some of the students and his staff in line. It was probably asking for too much, and he knew he still had to answer to Dumbledore eventually, but all he wanted for now was to make it through Christmas with no catastrophes.

As he stared up at the ceiling, Snape let his mind drift. He recalled the previous Christmas; it seemed so long ago now. He supposed it meant that this would be something of an anniversary for he and Samantha, but he doubted she paid any more attention to such things than he did. Not that he'd ever had call to do so. Still, the idea of anniversaries was pleasant to think about. Snape drifted off to sleep, still sprawled on the floor and half leaning on the door, wondering if they would have any more.


	29. A Moment's Peace

Shortly after Snape and Alecto left the Great Hall, Samantha moved to make her escape. McGonagall, however, had different ideas and rather presumptuously followed Samantha back to her rooms. Knowing exactly what the woman wanted to discuss, she simply opened her door and stepped aside, sweeping her arm in an exaggerated fashion, allowing McGonagall to enter.

McGonagall took a seat on the couch, while Samantha sat in an adjacent armchair.

"Why did Severus let those three off so lightly?" McGonagall asked without preamble.

"You don't happen to pay attention to the lunar calendar, do you Minerva?"

McGonagall sat in thought for a moment before gasping. Samantha nodded.

"I was never able to finish my potion, so we had no chance of decreasing the werewolf population," she said somewhat wistfully. "Severus has wards up that prevent them from entering the school grounds, but those wards do not extend into the forest. Hagrid may be good with dangerous animals, but werewolves are an entirely different story. Trust me; they did not get off lightly."

"You don't think he'll let them know that the children will be in the forest at night, do you?"

Samantha bit her lip. She knew he wouldn't, but she had to make sure that McGonagall thought that Snape wasn't doing the three any favors.

"It may be possible," she started slowly, "for me to…persuade him otherwise if that is his intention."

"I don't want to ask this of you," said McGonagall. "But if students' lives are in danger, we need to do all we can to protect them."

Samantha shrugged in response.

"He may not have it in mind to do it anyway."

McGonagall nodded and moved to stand before Samantha stopped her.

"And speaking of persuading Severus, I have news for you," she said, sliding to the edge of her seat.

She rested her folded arms on her knees before continuing.

"The Muggleborn Registration Committee is about to be much more proactive in rooting out Muggleborns," she said. "Now that the Dark Lord controls Hogwarts, he has access to the list of magical children _before_ they start school. The Ministry, such as it is, can find out who is Muggleborn long before their eleventh birthday."

"What are they going to do with them?"

"I don't know," Samantha whispered in response. "Severus wasn't entirely clear on that point. We know from personal experience that they aren't above torturing children; perhaps some kind of curse or potion to strip them of their magical abilities. But I don't think it will be long before there is some kind of systematic genocide."

McGonagall's eyes cast about, as if trying to find a thought that was eluding her.

"How are we…there are so many of them," she said in a desperate voice.

"We can start with PotterWatch," Samantha suggested. "Get the word out to the Order so that at least the Muggleborns we know about can leave."

Samantha sat in thought for a moment.

"Do you have access to the list too?" She asked. "Because I don't think there's anything I can do to make Severus hand it over."

Samantha grimaced at her words. It might not have been the reality of the situation, but playing the character wasn't much better.

"Well, if this is true, I certainly won't anymore."

"He doesn't often leave me alone in his rooms, but I may be able to make a copy if there is a diversion," said Samantha thoughtfully. "Nothing involving the students. We can't put them in danger of a detention."

"Of course," responded McGonagall with a nod. "I will discuss it with Filius. He will likely know of something that Severus would not be able to pin on any of us."

"The sooner the better, Minerva. We have four weeks at most," Samantha said urgently. "Get to who you can in the meantime and let me know when you've thought of something to give me time enough to make a copy of the list."

"Very well," McGonagall said as she stood, clearly wrapped up in her own thoughts. "I'll speak with Filius immediately."

Samantha remained seated, allowing McGonagall to show herself out. She lazily waved her wand to put her wards back in place after the woman shut the door behind her.

The following day found Snape and Samantha ensconced in his office, discussing the conversation she'd had with McGonagall. As Dumbledore had been made aware of their situation, Snape decided it was futile to keep any more secrets on the matter from him.

"And you told her to use PotterWatch?" Snape asked as leaned back in his chair.

Samantha nodded.

"In the short term," Samantha amended. "We – well, she and Filius – are planning a diversion so that I may 'sneak' into your office and make a copy of the list of future students. I haven't a clue how they'll explain it all to Muggles who don't know what's going on, but I suppose Minerva is accustomed to breaking it gently to parents, isn't she?"

"Yes," Snape murmured in response.

"Severus is as well," Dumbledore interjected somewhat jovially.

Snape tossed a nasty look at the portrait.

"Why?" Asked Samantha, utterly stunned. "You didn't _actually_ send him to someone's home, did you?"

Snape turned his glare on Samantha.

"What?" She asked defensively. "I think it's a valid question."

"I did indeed, my dear," Dumbledore answered. "There were simply too many and Minerva could never have visited them all."

"Who did you inflict him on?"

"Hermione Granger," said Dumbledore, a mischievous smile on his face.

Samantha clapped a hand over her mouth.

"You didn't!" She gasped.

Snape groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Samantha turned to him, her lips curved up in a playful smile.

"How was it?" Samantha asked cheekily.

"How do you think?" He muttered grumpily. "She was _insufferable_."

The rest of the conversation was spent planning as best they could, with Samantha making sure to interject as many sly remarks regarding his home visit as she could. By the time they parted, Snape wasn't entirely sure who was more insufferable.

With the end of term swiftly approaching, Samantha was beginning to get impatient with McGonagall. Knowing that she could simply ask Snape for the list, she decided to risk the woman's skepticism and simply tell her that she'd taken a chance when she saw the opportunity to do so.

When Samantha brought up her concern with Snape, he, fortunately, agreed with her desire for haste. There were too many children to warn to wait around for McGonagall and Flitwick to come up with a plan. He promptly retrieved the scrolls and allowed her to copy them.

That very night, only one week before the end of term, Samantha handed over the copied scrolls.

"Where did you get these?" McGonagall asked, staring at the rolls of parchment in her hands.

Samantha shrugged.

"Time was running short," she answered. "Severus was called away to deal with a student while I was in his rooms. I didn't know if I'd have enough time, but they were surprisingly easy to find. I suspect he had been recently reading over them."

That was true enough, for once. Both he and Samantha had already looked over the lists of students. Though the Dark Lord's plan was to eventually list blood status, that was not yet a reality. Snape was, thankfully, intimately familiar with the pureblood families and was therefore able to eliminate those children from her copy.

"You took a serious risk doing that," she said sternly. "How do you know the portraits haven't told him what you've done?"

"I used a Disillusionment charm. Besides, the only who would have said anything was Phineas and he wasn't in his portrait," she argued.

McGonagall eyed her doubtfully.

" _You hope,"_ she said as she crossed her arms.

"Well, it's done," said Samantha with finality. "You have the list and I'll have to face the consequences if he finds out what I've done."

"Very well," McGonagall answered, sounding none too pleased with the situation. "I'll get these to Kingsley tonight."

After Samantha got the names of the children in danger to McGonagall, the remaining days before the start of the Christmas holiday were relatively stress free. She'd felt as though she had actually accomplished something concrete, something that would, without doubt, save lives.

The feeling was obliterated mere hours after the students boarded the Hogwarts Express to London.

Snape and Samantha were in the lab brewing potions for the hospital wing when he suddenly sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"What it is?" Samantha asked, thinking he'd burned himself on a cauldron. Looking up, she knew that was not the case.

"I've been called," he answered through gritted teeth.

"Do you think something's happened?"

"I don't know," said Snape, shaking his head. "I'll come to your rooms when I return."

Snape turned to head to the door, but Samantha was up and around the table before he got that far. He cocked his head at her, not knowing what she wanted. She placed a hand on his cheek and gave him a lingering kiss.

"Be safe," she said in a whisper.

He said nothing, merely gave her short nod and was gone.

Arriving at Malfoy Manor, Snape swiftly made is way over the grounds. He was surprised to find Draco, looking rather ill, waiting for him in the entryway.

"Draco," said Snape in acknowledgement of the boy's presence.

"Headmaster," he responded dutifully.

Draco had, in the past, called him Uncle Severus. Those days were now long gone and unlikely to return. In some corner of his heart, Snape missed the illusion of having a family. The Malfoys were never affectionate, not even amongst themselves, but they didn't demean or physically harm him, so that was certainly a step up from his blood relations.  After the Malfoy patriarch's fall in status, however, the blame for their changed circumstances was placed squarely on Snape's shoulders.

As Draco led Snape up the stairs to the parlor, Snape studied the boy's unhealthy pallor and bloodshot eyes. He looked worse than usual and Snape knew that something had happened that had precipitated his summons.

Upon entering the parlor, Snape saw that the Dark Lord, Bellatrix, and Lucius were present, as ever, but there was also a small gang of Snatchers. One of them had a hold of a restrained Luna Lovegood. The girl, who bore a number of injuries to her face and arms, looked up at him and, to his surprise, smiled.

"Hello professor," she said in her usual airy voice.

The assembled group looked from Luna to Snape with rather perplexed looks on their faces.

"Severus," said Voldemort.

"My Lord," Snape responded. "Had I known that you wanted the girl, I could have delivered her myself."

Voldemort shook his head and lifted a hand.

"We must make them feel useful, mustn't we?" He said, gesturing to the Snatchers.

None of them seemed to register the insult.

"May I ask why my Lord requires my presence?" Snape asked, only briefly flicking his eyes to Voldemort before settling them back on the girl. He knew she couldn't be entirely oblivious to the danger she was in, but she was doing a damn good job of making him believe she was.

Snape strode further into the room. As he got closer, he saw the fear in her eyes. It wasn't directed at him, however. She looked at _him_ rather like Charity Burbage had just before Voldemort killed her. She was pleading with him. It was more unnerving than he wanted to admit. Aside from her detention, in which he'd sent her into the Forbidden Forest during a full moon, what had he done to give her the impression that he would do anything to help her?

Then again, the rather eccentric girl was known for her intuitive nature. He had, more than once, been privy to some of her more insightful remarks when he had taught Potions. They were always delivered in a way that made one think she wasn't even aware of the depth of her own words. He hoped she didn't feel the need to voice any insights she may have into his motives.

"If I am not mistaken, this is one of the group who tried to steal the sword," Voldemort said. "Am I correct?"

"Yes, my Lord, but Filch caught them the moment they left my office."

Voldemort made an expression that suggested he would have lifted an eyebrow if he'd had any.

"And you were?"

"Otherwise engaged, my Lord," Snape answered.

Voldemort made the same face. The smirk, however, let Snape know that Voldemort knew exactly in what he was otherwise engaged.

"And she received detention, no doubt?" Voldemort asked.

Snape hesitated before answering. He didn't doubt that Voldemort knew very well how he'd punished them. He settled for a deferential nod.

"With Hagrid," he continued. "Why was Amycus spared the pleasure?"

"They were in the Forbidden Forest during a full moon," Snape explained. "I find that the threat of violence is often worse than its certainty."

Snape glanced at Luna. She didn't appear to be phased by his reasoning.

"Creative," said Voldemort. "You always were one for mind games."

"And keeping his hands clean," Bellatrix muttered derisively. She _would_ think that was an insult.

Snape sneered at her before returning his attention to Voldemort.

"How long do you intend to hold the girl?" Snape asked. Perhaps he could indirectly offer her hope. Or terrify her. He wasn't sure which it would be as of yet.

Voldemort almost shrugged. It was a highly uncharacteristic gesture for him.

"Until I think her father has learned his lesson," he said casually. "And who knows how long that will take? Months, years, perhaps never."

Bellatrix and the Snatchers snickered. The gravity of the situation finally began to show on the girl's face.

"Is she to be kept here?"

At Lucius' nod, Snape was somewhat relieved. At least she would be in the dungeons with Ollivander. It wasn't much, but she wouldn't be alone and was thus less likely to be…abused.

"Is there anything else my Lord requires of me?" Snape asked, still not entirely sure why he had been called to begin with.

"I think there is," said Voldemort in a cold voice. Snape's heart dropped. _"Crucio."_

Snape fell to his knees and slowly sank to the ground in agony. It seemed worse than usual, for some reason. Perhaps he was too tired to try to block out any of the pain. Voldemort let up for a moment. Through the haze of pain, Snape saw Luna struggling against her captors. He vaguely wondered why she would do that. He saw her eyes widen as Voldemort recast the curse, stronger this time. The pain seared through his every nerve and then, suddenly, the curse was broken and his body went limp. A breath escaped as his muscles relaxed.

Snape slowly regained his senses and began the agonizing struggle to stand. When he got to his feet, he saw tears sliding down Luna's face. He could not fathom why she would be so worried for his well-being. Perhaps she was simply relieved that he had spared her from such torture when assigning her detention with Hagrid.

"Is the mere _threat_ of violence _really_ worse, Severus?" Voldemort asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. "Amycus is to handle discipline."

"Yes, my Lord."

"You are dismissed," said Voldemort with a wave of his hand toward the door.

"Thank you, my Lord," said Snape, bowing as he did so.

As Snape made his way back to the apparition point, he thought back over the meeting. If Voldemort decided to release Luna before term ended and she returned to Hogwarts, he would have to swear her silence. It would not do for her to tell anyone what she saw. The story would spread like wildfire through the student body. Given that Voldemort didn't bother to have her taken from the room before he cast the curse, however, lead Snape to believe that he had no intention of letting her go any time soon.

Snape passed through the gates and apparated, fully aware that he could easily splinch himself in his condition. Arriving back at Hogwarts, thankfully in one piece, he quickly found that it had begun to snow heavily in his absence. In his distracted state, he hadn’t even remembered that being Headmaster, he could have simply apparated directly to his quarters, and so he began to trudge up to the gates before sinking into the snow.

With his head down against the falling snow, Snape didn't see Samantha standing in the open doorway until he reached the stairs leading to the entrance. When he saw the light spilling out onto the snow, he raised his head to see who had left the door open.

Samantha was there, little more than a silhouette to Snape's eyes, which had not yet adjusted to the bright light filtering out through the open door. He squinted and her features slowly came into focus. Concern was etched across her face. Snape lifted a foot to begin the climb up to the doors – to Samantha – but his body would have none of it.

"Severus!" Samantha shrieked as she saw Snape's body crumble. She hurried down the icy steps as quickly as she could.

Kneeling in the wet snow, Samantha pulled Snape against her. He was still conscious, but she could feel him shaking, even through his heavy cloak. She pulled her wand out and cast a warming charm, but it did nothing.

"Not cold," Snape bit out through clenched teeth. "Cruciatus."

"Shit," Samantha breathed out. "We need to get you inside."

Although Samantha knew that as headmaster, Snape could apparate within the grounds of the school, she was not about to suggest that he do it in his condition. She was, frankly, surprised that he'd even made it as far as he had.

"Honey," she whispered into his ear. "If you can't walk, I have to levitate you."

Snape grunted and shook his head, trying to get his body under control.

"Walk, I'm walking," he mumbled.

Samantha wrapped an arm around his waist as he slung one of his arms over her shoulders. They were able to stand with effort and began the arduous journey through the castle.

"Dungeons," said Snape when Samantha had started to lead him to the staircase.

"No, we're going to the hospital wing," she replied firmly. "I may not be able to get you up six floors, but I can manage two. You need to be laying down on a bed with a certified Mediwitch looking over you. Not me. I don't know what to do."

"I can tell –"

" _Severus,"_ she hissed, "I'm not arguing about this. You need to rest, not bark out orders."

Snape wanted to argue, but he didn't have the energy for it. He also knew that if he wanted to get to the dungeons, he'd have to do it on his own power because Samantha was not to be swayed.

Before they began their ascent, Samantha withdrew her wand once more and cast a Disillusionment charm. It was very nearly curfew, but there were still students wandering about and it was better to be safe than sorry. That done, the pair began to move up the stairs. It was slow going, but they reached the second floor without incident.

After their first step onto the next flight of stairs, however, the staircase began to move to a corridor far from the hospital wing. Snape growled in frustration and, to their surprise, the staircase stopped and swung back to its original position. The two stood there for a moment, taking in what had happened.

"This place really is sentient, isn't it?" Samantha whispered.

"Albus always said it was," said Snape, his voice strained. "It's never done anything like this."

"Let's keep going," she said, knowing how much energy he'd spent getting this far.

The hospital wing was blissfully empty when they arrived. Samantha deposited Snape on a cot before going to find Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy!" She called out as she moved through the rows of beds.

"I'm right here, what's wrong?" The woman answered. She emerged moments later from a door that Samantha assumed led to her rooms.

"It's –" Samantha gestured back to Snape, but stopped talking when Madam Pomfrey moved swiftly past her.

Samantha followed her back to Snape's bed, where the Mediwitch had already drawn her wand and was performing diagnostic spells.

"What happened?" She asked in a rather toneless voice.

"It was the Dark Lord. Cruciatus," Samantha answered before Snape could say anything.

He glared at her, but Samantha merely glared back.

Poppy didn't see the exchange, but when Samantha met her eyes, she saw an interesting mix of emotions crossing her face. She clearly wondered _why_ he'd been tortured and seemed torn between the disgust she felt for him and the duty she had to perform.

Samantha opened her mouth to speak, but a spasm wracked Snape's body before she could get out a word. Instead, she sat on the bed next to him and took his hand. The viselike grip he had on her hand was involuntary, but it didn't fail to catch Poppy's attention. The look of very real concern on Samantha's face was also a point of interest.

The tremors running through Snape's body subsided just as Poppy went to the cupboard to retrieve the necessary potions.

"It is always this bad?" Samantha asked in a whisper.

Snape shook his head. Samantha was startled to see that he looked worried.

"Only when the curse was cast for _much_ longer," he answered in a soft, broken voice. "It shouldn't be like this."

Poppy came bustling back to the bed with three bottles, two of which were labeled in Samantha's hand.

"What are you giving him?" Samantha asked, wondering what she'd brewed that would be used to treat victims of Cruciatus.

"Draught of Peace, Strengthening Solution, and a muscle relaxant," she answered.

Poppy unstopped the bottles and lined them up on the bedside table.

"It's been working on the _students_ ," she continued, a hint of steel in her tone.

Before Snape could speak a word, Samantha grabbed one of the bottles and held it up to his lips. He drew a breath to argue, but she shook her head.

"Your hands are shaking," she explained. "You'll just dump it down your front if you do it. Now open up."

Snape did as he was told and allowed Samantha to administer each of the potions. As the Draught of Peace began to take effect, Snape relaxed back into the pillows. The worry was still there, but distinctly subdued. He closed his eyes and, if the steady rise and fall of his chest was any clue, fell asleep.

"Poppy?" Samantha asked, looking up at the woman.

The Mediwitch shifted her eyes from Snape to Samantha. The suspicion remained and Samantha almost flinched. It was hard to remember sometimes that they saw her as the enemy as well.

"Severus said it shouldn't have been this bad," she said quietly. "I practically had to carry him up here."

"Stress can make it worse," she offered, sitting on the cot next to Snape's.

Samantha nodded and looked back down at Snape. He was in a deep sleep now, something for which Samantha was thankful. The dark circles under his eyes were enough to let her know that he hadn't been sleeping and she knew he didn't like to take anything to help him sleep. Without thinking, she reached a hand up to move his hair out of his face.

"What did he do to you?" Poppy asked quite suddenly.

Samantha shifted on the cot to face her, the look of confusion clear on her face.

"I'm sorry?"

"You joined the Order, you were working with Lupin," she explained. "You were on _our_ side."

"It's complicated," Samantha answered in a whisper. That was certainly no lie.

Poppy narrowed her eyes and regarded Samantha silently. After a moment, she sighed and stood.

"Will he be alright here for the night?" Samantha asked, the thought suddenly striking her that someone may try to attack him as he slept.

"I can move him to a private room," she answered carefully.

"Thank you for helping him, Poppy," Samantha said sincerely. "I know what he's done and I know that you hate him for it."

"Yes, well," she said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable.

Samantha relieved her of her discomfort by simply nodding and returning to her own rooms. She had yet to discover why Voldemort had called Snape, much less why he'd returned to the castle barely able to stand. It would have to wait and, impatient as she was, she was happy to do so if it meant he could get a few hours of peace.


	30. Blue Christmas

Snape awoke the following morning feeling uncharacteristically refreshed. For a moment, he'd forgotten all that had transpired the previous evening and simply reveled in the fact that he didn't feel half-dead. Once he'd come to his senses and realized where he was, however, the memories came flooding back. Samantha had been waiting for him in the Entrance Hall – he wondered for how long – and had helped him to the hospital wing when his legs failed him.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, his cheeks rough with morning stubble. Pushing the covers off of himself, he was surprised to find that Poppy had removed his coat and waistcoat. By magic, likely as not. She wouldn't want to touch him if it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Though slightly unsteady when he stood, Snape felt as good as he supposed he could. The extent to which he was affected by the curse still worried him. In the past, he had suffered far worse than that and had not required assistance, and certainly not a night in the hospital wing.

Of course, in the past he had not been in quite the situation in which he now found himself. The stress had been considerable, to be sure, but it was nothing compared to what he'd experienced in a scant six months' time. Perhaps it was all catching up with him. It was bound to eventually. Though he was only in his thirties, he more often than not felt (and probably looked) twice his years. Samantha didn't seem to mind, which still astounded him, but it was taking its toll.

After having pulled on and buttoned his coat, Snape stepped out of his private room to come face to face with Madam Pomfrey.

"Poppy," he said evenly, his voice still a little rough from having just awoken.

"I don't think I've cleared you to leave yet," she said tartly.

Snape raised an eyebrow more in surprise than irritation. It seemed she and McGonagall could not help but see him as the boy they remembered from his days as a student. No matter that he hadn't been a student for twenty years or had been a Death Eater or a spy or had _murdered_ their employer and friend.

"Cast your spells, but I assure you I am perfectly fine," he answered in partial surrender. "I have suffered far worse as you well know."

There really was no point in ignoring that she had tended to his wounds in the past. She gave him a look that suggested she didn't want to be reminded of it. Perhaps she regretted having saved his life on more than one occasion.

All the same, she performed her diagnostic spells and allowed him to leave. He noticed that she pointedly left out her customary admonition that he not "overdo it." He supposed he should feel lucky she didn't poison him.

Snape checked the time on his pocket watch as he approached the staircase. Seeing that he still had time for breakfast, he began his descent to the first floor. He realized how terrible he probably looked but, to be honest, it was hard to do worse than his best. In any case, the only thing on his mind that moment was food. Well, food _and_ Samantha. He needed to tell her what had transpired at his meeting the evening before.

When Snape arrived in the Great Hall, he saw that Samantha was indeed present, as were many of the other professors and the handful of students who were staying for the holiday. It was unsurprising how few of them there were. He couldn't help but notice that the chairs on either side of Samantha were empty. McGonagall had left the seat to Samantha's left vacant, while Alecto had done the same on her right. He knew without a doubt that both women had their reasons and he also knew that those reasons would not please him.

As the occupants of the Hall realized he had arrived, their chatting quieted as they took in his haggard appearance. He glared at each of them in turn and moved to the empty chair between Samantha and Alecto, frustrated that his usual long, smooth stride was slightly stilted.

Before Snape could address Samantha, Alecto leaned over and placed her hand on his forearm.

"I need to talk to you after breakfast, Severus," she said in a low voice.

Snape looked from her hand up to her face and raised an eyebrow. Severus, was it?

"Regarding?" He asked smoothly.

"I'd rather not discuss it here," she answered demurely.

He did not like the way she was speaking to him or that she was touching him. It almost seemed as if she was – and he sincerely hoped this was not the case – flirting with him.

"I have much to do," he said shortly. "Perhaps later."

Alecto look put out, but, thankfully, removed her hand from his arm. When he turned to Samantha, he saw that she had also taken notice of Carrow's bizarre behavior. Frankly, she looked like a woman whose significant other had just been chatted up by another woman. Not jealous, it was defensive. Merlin but he hoped there wouldn't be some kind of altercation between the two. Vaguely amusing as it would be to have two women fighting over him, he most emphatically did not need the added drama. Snape was well aware, however, that he didn't have that kind of luck.

Of course, Alecto was merely power-hungry. She had never looked twice at him, not that he had ever wanted her to, but now that he was headmaster and Voldemort's most trusted servant, she saw her chance to ingratiate herself to the Dark Lord.

"Poppy cleared you then," Samantha stated stiffly.

"I rather think she would have even if I weren't ready to leave," he replied.

Samantha hummed in response.

Snape waited for the conversations amongst his tablemates to grow louder before he spoke again.

"Accompany me to the lab after breakfast," he said quietly. "I will tell you what happened last night and you will tell me why no one wants to sit next to you."

The look Samantha gave him was hard to read. She was in parts annoyed, angry, and perhaps a touch hurt by McGonagall's snub. He knew she couldn't give a toss if Alecto sat next to her or not, but McGonagall was her only ally in the Order. He could only sympathize with her on that account.

"Fine," she said, her jaw tight.

Samantha finished breakfast well before Snape and rose to leave, not waiting for him to finish. As she reached the doors, however, McGonagall caught up with her.

"Poppy told me what happened last night," she said once they'd left the Great Hall.

"And?" Samantha asked, irritated by the disapproval and suspicion in McGonagall's voice.

"She seems convinced."

Samantha shrugged.

"Shouldn't she be?"

"I suggest we continue this conversation elsewhere," said McGonagall as she began to ascend the stairs.

"I am to meet Severus in the lab in a few moments. If what you have to say won't take long, we can go to my office."

McGonagall sighed irritably and pursed her lips.

"Very well," she said curtly.

Once Samantha had shut the door and cast the appropriate spells, she turned to face the witch whose displeasure was fully showing itself.

"I know she isn't aware of your current situation, but she couldn't help but remark upon how very concerned you seemed to be," said McGonagall, her hands on her hips. "Not to mention how Severus acted."

"If you have something to say, Minerva, I suggest you say it," Samantha said in a low voice.

"I am beginning to think Severus is commanding more of your loyalty than the Order does," she blurted out, sounding as if it was something she'd been turning over in her head for some time.

Samantha showed no reaction whatsoever. She didn't gasp, she didn't begin to yell. To be honest, she wasn't even sure if what McGonagall said was true or not. Snape himself was loyal to the Order in a roundabout way, but could Samantha say that she would place the Order above him? She wasn't so sure she could.

"I have to play my part," Samantha answered vaguely. "If it seems convincing, I cannot deny that I may have some lingering feelings. I am sorry if I seemed concerned that he had just been tortured by the Dark Lord and couldn't even make it inside the castle."

" _Inside_ the castle?" McGonagall asked, thankfully sidetracked from Samantha's admission of her feelings. "What were you doing outside?"

"I wasn't outside, I was–"

"Were you waiting for him?" She asked, sounding fairly disgusted by the idea.

Samantha nearly sneered at her.

"No," she said firmly. "I was in the Entrance Hall and I heard the snow crunching outside. I thought it might have been a student, so I went out and found him. He fell the moment he tried to walk up the steps to the door."

"And then you brought him to Poppy?"

Samantha nodded.

"As any decent person would do," she said pointedly. "I wasn't about to let him freeze to death."

"She also said he let you administer the potions."

" _And?"_ Samantha asked impatiently. "He couldn't do it himself and I thought I'd save Poppy the arduous task of pouring potions down Severus Snape's throat. He was more comfortable with me doing it anyway."

"Precisely," said McGonagall as if all had just been made clear.

"What are you getting at?"

"You two seem very…comfortable with each other," she said carefully.

Samantha let out a harsh breath.

"Well, given what we do on a fairly regular basis," she said with a sneer, knowing how crude her implication was, "it is to be expected."

Sure enough, McGonagall looked positively scandalized.

"If I didn't know any better," she started slowly, "I would say you didn't mind it."

"And what if I didn't?" Samantha said, her words sounding like a dare.

If McGonagall had looked scandalized before, there were no words for the look on her face now.

"This is not something to joke about, Samantha," admonished McGonagall.

"What you're accusing me of amounts to treason. I don't know what you expect me to say."

"That you're a better actress than I thought you were," McGonagall replied quite seriously.

Samantha raised an eyebrow but remained silent. She knew she was playing a dangerous game, but McGonagall's accusations were infuriating. The problem is that they were also, in a way, completely true.

"I can't keep Severus waiting," Samantha said, completely ignoring McGonagall's allegation.

McGonagall looked as if she wanted to protest, but snapped her mouth shut and just short of stomped out of Samantha's office. Samantha exited behind her, warded the door, and headed to the dungeons.

Snape was waiting outside the door to the lab – he still had no given her the password – when Samantha arrived. He said nothing about her tardiness but simply nodded and turned around to unward the lab.

"Why were you called?" Samantha asked without preamble the moment he closed the door.

Snape sighed before answering.

"Luna Lovegood has been captured," he answered, his voice making clear his feelings on the matter. He had failed most spectacularly in upholding his promise to keep the students safe.

Samantha sat heavily on a stool.

"Where is she?"

"Malfoy Manor, in the dungeons," he said. He paused for a moment before continuing. "She is…unharmed, for the most part. Bumps and bruises, but I do not think they have done any worse."

"You don't think–"

Snape shook his head before she could voice the thought.

"Lucius would not and nor would Draco," he reassured her. "The only ones who would are the Snatchers and they aren't given free rein in Malfoy Manor. She is also being held with Ollivander, which, I think, gives her a certain level of protection. They are more interested in punishing her father anyway."

Despite his attempts at optimism regarding Luna's predicament, the guilt on his face lingered.

Samantha nodded absently. She sat silently for a moment before extending her hand toward Snape.

"Come here," she said softly.

Snape did as she bid and once he was close enough, Samantha, who was still seated on her stool, wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly as she laid her head on his chest. Snape, in return, wrapped one arm around her and buried his other hand in her hair.

"You are doing all you can, Severus. You _cannot_ save everyone."

"Lately it has seemed as though I cannot save anyone," he answered morosely. His mood only worsened as he recalled having said much the same to Dumbledore a mere two years previous.

Samantha lifted her head to look him in the eye. He refused to meet her gaze, but finally did so after she squeezed him to get his attention.

"Everything is not your fault. You are not the only one fighting this war," she reminded him. "Once those kids were on the train, they were outside of your protection."

"That is not the point," said Snape with a frown. "I should have known about this _before_ it happened. She is a Hogwarts student and I am the headmaster."

"Would you have rather been the one to drag her to Malfoy Manor yourself?" Samantha challenged him. "If it had not been the Snatchers, it would have been you."

"They beat her," he countered. "I may have had to deliver her, but she would have been wholly unharmed."

"There is no bright side to this situation, Severus. It is no use talking about what could have been done. It _is_ done and we have to move on from here."

Snape pulled back and sat on the stool next to Samantha. Their entwined hands rested on the counter.

"Do you happen to know why you were left on your own at breakfast?" He asked, glad for the change of topic.

"I believe we both know why Alecto left that seat open," Samantha answered pointedly.

"And to no avail," he swiftly replied. "Do not worry on that score. What of Minerva?"

"She spoke to Poppy," Samantha said with an annoyed huff. "It seems her suspicions have been renewed."

"Can you persuade her otherwise?"

Samantha shrugged.

"I honestly don't know. She hasn't entirely trusted me since we came back over the summer. I never showed the bloodlust the rest of them did where you are concerned," she paused for a moment. "Well, Granger didn't either, but who would question _her_?"

"Who indeed?" Snape echoed sarcastically.

Snape stared at their connected hands for a moment before speaking.

"I'm sorry for doing this to you," he said at last.

Samantha cocked her head in confusion.

"Doing what?"

"Putting you in this position," he clarified.

"Severus, if I hadn't wanted to play the informant, I wouldn't have," said Samantha sternly.

"I meant everything," he said with a sigh.

"You mean our relationship?"

Snape said nothing, but he didn't need to say anything. The look on his face told Samantha everything she needed to know.

"Please don't say things like that," she said, grasping his hand more tightly. "We each entered this of our own accord. You didn't _do_ anything to me. If anything, I was the one pushing for it."

"But I should have known better," he insisted. "The circumstances could not have been worse and I allowed this to happen."

"Oh, just…shut up," Samantha snapped.

Snape drew a breath to respond.

"No, I'm serious. Shut up," she continued, her tone brooking no argument. "You act like you have somehow taken advantage of me or that I myself was not aware of your circumstances when we – whatever we did, whatever we are. Well, I have some news for you, Severus Snape: I was fully aware, _am_ fully aware, and I still choose to be with you."

Snape remained to look unconvinced but allowed the argument to die. He had begun to learn when to hold his tongue where Samantha was concerned.

The pair spent the remainder of the day finishing the brewing that had been interrupted by Snape's call the previous day. Although both were tense, the cause was not entirely personal. The castle at large was saturated with the feeling that they were all lying in wait, though no one knew to what end. After all, the Death Eaters had already overthrown the Ministry and taken over Hogwarts; there would be no attacks on the school. But the tension remained as the number of missing rose and the death toll mounted. Each day that passed in which no word was heard of the elusive Harry Potter was another spent wondering where the Trio was and what kind of trouble they'd gotten themselves into along the way.

Samantha was given the unenviable task of informing McGonagall of Luna's capture. As expected, McGonagall was shocked upon learning what had occurred, but remained stoic all the same. Samantha wondered what the woman would do if she knew that Snape had taken the news worse than anyone, Ravenclaw's Head included. That Snape had most keenly felt the guilt at failing in his duty of care or, indeed, that he even felt he held that duty.

Though well into the winter holiday with Christmas swiftly approaching, the warmth and cheer of the season was noticeably absent from the castle. There was no singing of carols, no sprigs of holly festooning archways, and no Christmas tree holding court in the Great Hall. The only sign that Christmas Eve had indeed arrived was the dinner provided by the elves on the day. Dinner was by no means a sparse affair at any other time, of course, but the succulent roast beef and decadent pudding were surely signs of a special occasion, even if the traditional Christmas crackers were missing.

Over the week, Alecto, despite Snape's obvious distaste for her, had continued in her attempts at capturing his attention. Amycus, in an uncharacteristic show of compassion and, frankly, sheer awareness that anything at all was amiss, sat himself in between his sister and Snape for the Christmas Eve feast. Snape took it as a much-appreciated gift. While this was a welcome respite from Alecto's disturbing pursuit, Samantha's dour mood was troubling. He had a fairly good idea to what he could attribute her melancholy and was not about to let her mope away in her room on Christmas Eve when he knew how much she loved the holiday.

"Shall we meet in your rooms after dinner?" He asked quietly.

With an inward wince, he knew that he had not asked quietly enough when he saw McGonagall glare at him. Perhaps she hadn't heard exactly what he said, but given the look on her face, he was certain she knew what he'd asked Samantha.

Samantha looked back at him, her eyes dull and slightly reddened. She looked ready to fall asleep in her plate, but nodded all the same.

The pair left the Hall together, neither particularly concerned with the many pairs of eyes following them as they made their way to the doors. They walked in silence to Samantha's rooms. The moment Snape closed the door behind them, he led her to the couch and proceeded to pour them both generous glasses of wine.

Samantha gratefully accepted her glass. After Snape had settled himself on the couch, she threw her legs over his lap as he loosely wrapped his arm around her while his other arm rested on her legs.

"Can you believe it's been a year?" She whispered after taking a large sip of her wine.

She sighed before continuing.

"This is the first time since I can remember that I haven't gone to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve."

"We both know it would be a bad idea," Snape murmured in response, hoping not to upset her.

Samantha nodded, but the look on her face was one of resignation.

"I know. I just…I miss him. I miss _it_. I haven't been to Mass in months. I'm just not used to that."

She looked genuinely troubled.

"Just when I need it most, I can't go. I feel so lost," Samantha continued. "I feel like a part of me is missing."

While Snape had nothing like her devotion to religion of any kind, he knew the importance of having something to alleviate the tension, even if he himself rarely found such relief. Truth be told, Samantha was that source for him. He knew she could find solace in him as well – he was rather surprised at himself for being capable of acknowledging such a thing – but her faith provided something for her that he never could. This he knew, even if he was not able to attach a word to that something.

A thought suddenly hit him.

"I have a pensieve," he said.

Samantha looked confused for a moment before realizing his meaning. Her face broke out into a warm smile, the likes of which he had not seen for months.

"Can we, Severus?" She asked with an almost childlike hope coloring her voice.

Snape smiled back at her and nodded. He stood and held out a hand.

"Come."

Samantha readily took his hand and allowed him to pull her up from the couch. While she was reluctant to do so, she had to release her hold when they left her rooms. All the same, her relief and gratitude to Snape for offering his pensieve was palpable.

When they reached his office, he strode across the room to a warded cabinet in which he kept the stone basin. Once retrieving it, they moved to his private quarters. Snape set the pensieve upon the table in front of his couch and extracted his wand. Before he could begin to remove his memories, Samantha placed a hand upon his.

"Can we use mine? I think I may have a bit more of a detailed memory of the Mass."

Snape placed his wand back in his sleeve and nodded.

"Thank you," said Samantha as she withdrew her own wand.

She paused for a moment and looked sheepishly at Snape.

"I, um, I've never used one of these before," she said quietly, sounding almost embarrassed at revealing her ignorance.

"Just place your wand to your temple," Snape explained as he grasped her hand and moved it toward her forehead. "Think of what memory it is you want to extract and focus on bringing it to the forefront of your mind. Then pull the memory out and bring it to the pensieve."

Samantha nodded as a look of deep concentration came over face. Snape almost laughed as her left eyebrow rose, something she always did when her mind became intensely focused. She closed her eyes and pulled her wand away from her temple, a gossamer strand of memories following it. She directed it to the pensieve and allowed it to drop into the basin. Samantha turned to face Snape, her eyes looking for confirmation that she'd done it correctly.

"Ready?" Snape asked, grasping her hand.

She nodded and they both leaned forward, plunging their faces into the pensieve.

Once they both had gotten their bearings, Snape saw that they were standing in the Entrance Hall. He saw himself waiting near the doors, looking up the staircase where Samantha had just appeared. He had almost forgotten how beautiful she'd looked that night. _Almost._

Samantha was meanwhile revisiting her reaction to Snape's appearance that night. It reminded her of a question she'd meant to ask.

"Where did you learn to dress like that, Severus?" She asked.

It seemed to take effort, but he took his eyes off of the memory Samantha and refocused them on himself. He grimaced.

"Lucius," was his reply. "He called it 'Muggle baiting'."

As the shadows crossed his face from his own memories, Samantha grabbed his hand to, ironically, bring him back to the present.

"Well, let's just forget the source and focus on how well it suits you," she said, pulling him along towards the doors, which the memory Snape had just opened.

They followed the pair through the grounds, each one smirking as they watched their memory selves sneaking glances at their traveling companion. When they reached the gates the memory swirled and reformed in the graveyard near the church. As they moved to the queue in front of the church, Samantha caught the glance the memory Snape had given her, one that she hadn't seen on that night. It was somewhere between pride and astonishment. Samantha looked up at Snape to find that his eyes were transfixed on her memory form. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him when he looked at her. He smiled faintly in response.

Soon they were moving through the queue and into the church. Though she knew she was not actually in the church, Samantha reflexively crossed herself when they entered. They were only able to stray a short distance from where their memory selves sat, but they found empty space nearby in a pew blocked on one side by a pillar. She and Snape sat down and truly relived the evening. Samantha followed along with the Mass, standing, sitting, and kneeling where necessary. She knew it wasn't real, but it was the best she could hope for given the circumstances. And truly, she was surprised at how real it did feel. The fragrant smell of the incense, though only in her mind, and the practiced choir were well enough to soothe her nerves. Yes, it was _precisely_ what she'd needed.

When the Mass ended, they once more followed themselves out of the church. Samantha felt tears prick her eyes when she watched as her memory self greeted Father Matthews. She hadn't realized how much she missed the man until then. Everything she wanted to speak with him about, all the questions and fears she had sprang to mind. It was torture knowing that no matter how substantial he appeared to be, these were nothing more than memories.

As she watched the pair walk away, she felt a fluttering in her stomach when she realized what was about to happen. Samantha felt Snape's hand tighten in her grasp when her memory self slipped her hand into Snape's after which he entwined his fingers with her own. They looked at each other and smiled, though a certain pleasurable tension sprang up between them. It seemed Snape likewise knew what was coming.

Once more her memories swirled and they were deposited back at Hogwarts. Samantha found something oddly thrilling in watching the scene over again. She watched as her memory self leaned into Snape in the cold and waited with anticipation for the moment the memory Snape stopped just short of the steps leading to the doors of the castle.

Samantha extracted her hand from Snape's and wrapped her now free arm around his waist as he did the same to her. She could recall perfectly her feelings on that night, how she'd gone dizzy in the pure delight of it all. Even now, she felt slightly lightheaded watching herself tipping her head back to give Snape the perfect opportunity to kiss her. Her breathing, and Snape's as well she noticed, was shallow and she gave a soft gasp when the couple in her memory finally kissed. She suddenly realized how very erotic it was, watching this scene unfold. It made her begin to understand why couples would record their more intimate moments. It hadn't been something she'd ever thought of doing with her husband, but, well, pensieves were an interesting alternative. Certainly more realistic.

Snape was getting rather the same thrill out of the experience. He forced himself to tear his eyes away to catch a glimpse of Samantha. She looked positively _aroused_. Her eyes were heavily lidded and her slightly parted lips were swollen.

"You like this, do you?" He whispered to her, his lips brushing her ear. He was quite proud when he felt a shiver run through her.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes still locked on the memory.

"Perhaps we should withdraw and reenact it?" His voice was low, somewhat predatory.

Samantha, beyond words by then, nodded and with a rush they were back on Snape's couch breathing heavily. They took one look at each other and stood, casting disillusionment charms as they moved swiftly for the door. Samantha followed Snape down the many staircases to the main doors, out of which they rushed without any thought for the cold.

Snape pulled Samantha to the same spot in which they'd been in Samantha's memories. He placed his hands on either side of her face and dipped his head to kiss her deeply. Unlike the memory they had just seen, this was certainly not their first kiss but it was just as electrifying, if not even more so. He knew it was reckless behavior but he decided quite quickly that the benefits far outweighed the cost.

Samantha smiled against his mouth as she realized that he had become a _much_ better kisser in the twelve months that stretched between the present and her memory. It rather thrilled her to know that it was all due to her tutelage.

The two pulled back to regain their breath, which, as it had in Samantha's memory, once more came out in small, white puffs.

"I can't believe we just did that," Samantha said with a giggle, realizing just how juvenile their actions were.

"It's Christmas, we're allowed a little fun," said Snape in an uncharacteristic show of levity.

Samantha fished inside Snape's coat to draw out his pocket watch.

"It _is_ Christmas, Severus," she said as she smiled up at him. She turned the watch so he could see the face. It was exactly midnight.

"Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered into her hair.

Snape heard Samantha gasp at the term of endearment. He realized that he had never called her that before. He'd actually never called anyone that before.

He really was amazed at what a year could bring.


	31. The Silver Doe

Christmas Day was, thankfully, a rather uneventful affair. Snape and Samantha spent the majority of the day sequestered in his rooms, each with their own pile of reading material stacked on the floor next to them. Intermittent comments were made as each came across an interesting or frustrating passage in their books; some of those comments were directed solely to the book in question.

By early afternoon, Samantha's eyes began to droop. She rolled her head around, easing the tense muscles in her neck. There was only one thing for it.

"Tea?" Samantha asked. She placed her open book on the coffee table and stretched.

Snape rubbed his eyes before nodding.

"I need my glasses," he mumbled as he stood to locate the said spectacles.

"I've never seen you wear glasses," said Samantha in a mildly accusatory tone, turning on the couch to face him.

"I don't wear them that often," he explained simply.

"Severus, I've known you for over a year."

He shrugged absently, not really understanding why she would care one way or another, and began rifling through the various stacks of paper that festooned his sitting room.

Samantha herself was not entirely sure why she cared. But it seemed like something she _should_ know about him. Enough of his life was kept secret from her, and while the fact that he wore glasses was entirely inconsequential, it was yet another piece of him that she'd been unaware of.

She watched as he finally gave up looking for them manually and simply waved his wand to have them zoom out of his bedroom door and into his outstretched hand. He moved back to the couch as she stood to make the tea.

Samantha continued to watch him as she waited for the tea to steep. She concluded that his glasses did not suit him. They were perched on the end of his nose and instantly reminded her of those worn by Dumbledore and McGonagall. It wasn't really the time to bring it up, but she decided that it was one of the first things to remedy once this infernal war was over. If they survived, that is. That she'd made it a point to have plans to replace his glasses as long as they were both alive was patently ridiculous, but at the present even the most mundane of tasks could present a threat to their safety. Still, anyone else might have thought her insane for daydreaming about going out and buying a pair of spectacles as if it were her life's goal.

After ten minutes had passed without a sound from Samantha, Snape turned to find her staring somewhat vacantly in his direction, holding a spoon above the pot of sugar. There was a kind of wistful smile on her face that piqued his interest.

"Samantha?" He asked, breaking the silence. She jumped in response and shook her head slightly to clear her mind.

"Yes?" She answered, continuing to make the tea as if nothing was amiss.

"You were –" Snape started, but stopped when her wistful smile was replaced with the barely concealed anxiety that marked so many of their faces these days. He shook his head. "Never mind."

Samantha looked relieved that he didn't ask her what she'd been thinking about. Besides the absurdity of it all, she had no desire to get into another discussion of what ifs. It was one thing to daydream about the future and quite another to actually talk about it. Hearing the ubiquitous phrase "if we survive" spoken aloud was more than her nerves could handle. It hung like a black cloud over them, making thoughts of the future – _their_ future – seem like nothing more than frivolous dreams of an outcome that would never come to pass.

The two returned to their reading after Samantha made tea, the evening passing much as the morning had. Save, perhaps, for indulging in a nice Christmas snog before Samantha returned to her rooms.

Christmas may have been what counted for idyllic in the midst of war, but Boxing Day could not be said to have been quite as tranquil. While Samantha was in her office preparing for the coming term, Dumbledore drew Snape into conversation.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Severus," Snape heard Dumbledore say from over his shoulder.

He turned around to face the portrait, waiting for Dumbledore to ask his "favor." He always did you the courtesy of pretending as though you had a choice in doing something he asked you to do. But, in the end, the parties involved always knew it was nothing short of an order.

"Yes?"

"The sword of Gryffindor needs to find its way into Harry's hands," he said.

They had discussed this before, back when he had sent the copy to Gringotts to be placed in Bellatrix's vault after the Weasley girl and her compatriots had tried to steal it. At the time, Dumbledore had impressed upon him the need to keep the sword safe. Clearly it held more importance than being an historical artifact held dear by bleeding heart Gryffindors the world over.

"What could Potter possibly need the sword for?" Snape had asked this multiple times already and he was fairly certain he wasn't about to get an answer.

"To do what I have told him to do," Dumbledore answered vaguely.

Snape huffed in response.

"Phineas," Dumbledore called across the room to the Slytherin's portrait.

"Albus," he said cautiously.

"Could you perhaps visit your portrait in Miss Granger's bag to discover their location?"

Just as Snape had done only moments before, he huffed in response. It seemed to be the common Slytherin response to most anything involving Gryffindors.

"The last time I went to that Mudblood's –"

"Don't say that!" Snape snapped immediately. The bigotry of it aside, Snape hated hearing the word that had precipitated the end of his friendship with Lily and all that that entailed.

"That _girl's_ handbag, she blindfolded me!" He said, positively scandalized by the very idea of it.

"This is important, Phineas. A matter of life or death," said Dumbledore seriously.

For a moment, he looked fit to argue the point, but deflated as he gave them both a curt nod and disappeared from his portrait.

"And now?" Snape asked, his lips pursed in annoyance.

"And now we wait," Dumbledore answered congenially. Snape could almost picture him popping a lemon drop in his mouth and leaning back in the very chair in which he now sat.

He raised an eyebrow at the portrait before turning back to his desk. Menial though his current task was, it needed to be done. At times, the idea that he still had to attend to budgeting concerns and requisition forms for classroom supplies seemed positively ludicrous. Voldemort had succeeded in overthrowing the Ministry and Death Eaters had the run of Hogwarts, and yet here he was reading Sybil Trelawney's request for crystal balls. It seemed so very futile, but at the same time, the sheer normalcy of it allowed him to pretend that he wasn't sitting in that chair because he'd murdered the man who had once occupied it.

Two hours later, Snape's fellow Slytherin headmaster came back to his portrait and informed them – without, of course, missing the chance to include another slur on Granger's blood status in the process – that the pair was camping in the Forest of Dean. He had a strong suspicion that Granger was choosing their campsites. She would keep in mind to head south, while staying in England, as the winter came upon them. Gloucester was by no means a tropical paradise, but it provided cover without having to hide out in the far less populated northern reaches of the country.

"Good. Very good!" Came Dumbledore's voice from behind him. "Now, Severus, the sword! Do not forget that it must be taken under conditions of need and valor – and he must not know you give it! If Voldemort should read Harry's mind and see you acting for him –"

Of all the obvious advice…

"I know," Snape snapped at the painting before swinging it open to retrieve the sword.

He looked at it distastefully before closing Dumbledore's portrait. Snape strode across his office to where his traveling cloak hung on a hook near the door.

"And you still aren't going to tell me why it's so important to give Potter the sword?" He asked moodily. He really was tired of doing things without knowing why they needed to be done.

"No, I don't think so," Dumbledore answered.

Snape rolled his eyes.

"He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they may not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley's mishap –"

 _May not?_ Of course they bloody wouldn't. Potter would kill him on sight and he stood little more chance of survival should Granger find him first.

"Don't worry," Snape said irritably. "I have a plan."

Once he apparated to the forest, it took him about an hour to locate their campsite after hiding the sword. The enchantments were good. Very good. Certainly enough to fool any Snatchers and the vast majority of the Death Eaters he knew.

Snape watched Potter for a moment. The boy was sitting outside their tent, a dying fire in front of him. Even from his distance, Snape could see that he'd lost a considerable amount of weight. There were the beginnings of a beard on the boy's now gaunt face and dark circles shaded his eyes.

Withdrawing his wand, Snape paused for a moment before casting. His entire plan rested upon Potter's bullheaded recklessness. The moment he cast his Patronus, he was not disappointed. Potter immediately moved to investigate the glowing orb that was floating silently through the forest. Snape watched with what was probably just as much interest as Potter as the shimmering globe began to take shape. He hadn't cast a Patronus since that night in Dumbledore's office, but surely it could not still be Lily's doe.

Snape's eyes widened as it became just that. How could that be possible? Snape's mind whirred as he followed Potter toward the lake. He had no idea what Samantha's Patronus was, but the first thing that came to his mind was _not_ a doe. A Rottweiler, perhaps, but certainly not a doe. It was an interesting development – or lack thereof – and Snape struggled to understand why his Patronus would not have been affected by the rather monumental change in his feelings toward the former Miss Evans.

A splash brought Snape's attention back to his current surroundings. Snape crouched and waited for Potter to reemerge from the freezing water. As the seconds ticked by, he began to get nervous. The crunching of leaves startled him and he turned to see Ron Weasley rushing toward the frozen lake. He dove head first into the frigid water fully clothed and surfaced moments later with a dazed Potter. He hoisted Potter onto the ice and dove down once more. Snape let out a breath when he saw Weasley emerge with the sword held aloft over the water.

Though he knew that his task had been thus discharged with, Snape made no move to leave. He wanted to know why Potter needed that sword and was keen to stay and find out if the boy would reveal its use.

The two began to talk and Snape moved closer to be able to hear their conversation. They were trying to figure out the origin of the Patronus and how the sword had come into their possession. Snape knew that Potter would out with it sooner rather than later.

"You reckon this is the real one?" Snape heard Weasley ask.

"One way to find out, isn't there?" Potter responded.

He walked over and grabbed the locket that was dangling from Weasley's hand. Finding a flat surface upon which to place it, Potter wiped the snow from a rock, set the locket on it, and looked back to Weasley.

Snape's eyes widened as he listened to Potter explain why Weasley needed to be the one to wield the sword in destroying the locket. _Of course_. It was a horcrux. Snape knew that they were next to impossible to destroy and had no idea why the sword was capable of such a thing or how the trio had discovered that it was. And it was obvious they had or Dumbledore would not have been so sure that Potter would know why he needed it. Snape was once more mildly annoyed by Dumbledore's subterfuge, even if he was well used to it by this point in his life.

He continued to crouch in the brush, watching as the scene unfolded. Snape shivered at the sound of Parseltongue, vividly recalling hearing Voldemort commanding Nagini to do his bidding. The locket opened and began to speak to Weasley, taunting him. He almost felt pity for the boy. He knew what it was like to play second fiddle to a Potter, especially where a girl was concerned. Just as the figures that had emerged from the locket began to engage in behavior he'd rather not see his students engage in, Weasley rushed forward and swung. The sword came crashing down upon the locket, eliciting a blood-curdling scream from the piece of soul trapped inside.

Weasley stood with the sword limply at his side as smoke seeped out of the now thoroughly shattered locket. Potter approached the object with caution, his wand at the ready. Seeing that it could no longer harm him, he picked it up and turned to face the red-haired boy, who was kneeling on the ground, his face in his hands. Snape decided that he'd gleaned all the information he could and crept out of earshot of the boys so that he could apparate back to the school.

As he walked, the enormity of what he had just witnessed sank in, pushing all thoughts of his unchanged Patronus out of his mind. A piece of Voldemort's soul had just been destroyed. They were all one step closer to ending this hell on earth. And he'd had a hand in it. It was a very powerful reminder that he was still on the right side of this thing. That he hadn't completely lost his humanity and that he still had the capacity to do something more than barely restrain the Carrows from torturing students too badly.

It was well into the dead of night when Snape returned to Hogwarts.  He had a thought to stop by Samantha's rooms as he began the ascent to his tower, but after consulting his pocket watch and seeing that it was nearing half past three in the morning, he decided to continue on his way.

The thought of his Patronus came back to him as he reached the third floor. Perhaps it no longer had anything to do with any feelings for Lily in a romantic sense. He knew he still felt a sense of obligation to her. After all, he had not yet fulfilled his promise to protect her son. Could that be why his Patronus had not changed even though he had? It was the best explanation he could come up with. The doe was undeniably tied to Lily in his mind, but it seemed it was no longer borne of unrequited love.

It once more all came down to obligation. How he had come to hate that word. Promises and obligations had ruled his life for over a decade now. If it wasn't Lily, it was Dumbledore and if it wasn't Dumbledore, it was Voldemort. Well, his obligation to Voldemort had ceased to exist the moment he met with Dumbledore on that windy hilltop all those years ago.  But it _had_ once existed and that mistake continued to control his existence, tying his well-being to others without his consent.

The moment Snape entered his office, Dumbledore's portrait sprang to life.

"Harry has the sword?"

Snape took off his cloak and hung it up before answering. The old man could wait.

"And the _horcrux_ has been taken care of," said Snape pointedly. "You could have told me, Albus."

The portrait looked mildly chastened.

"Weasley has returned," he added. "They all look miserable and unkempt. They are underfed and freezing to death out there."

"You saw Miss Granger?"

Snape shook his head.

"No, but she can't look any better than Potter."

There was silence for a moment.

"How many more are there?" Snape asked quietly, knowing already that Dumbledore would not tell him.

"There are more, but I suspect that they have already figured out what they are, if not how to acquire them," said Dumbledore.

"Can you tell me how many have already been destroyed?" He asked, sure that the locket was not the first. Potter seemed too able to dispatch the horcrux without having done it before.

"This makes the third," Dumbledore answered.

"And the other two?" Snape prompted him.

"Tom Riddle's diary and the ring."

"The ring? You mean –" Snape stopped, gesturing toward the desk.

Dumbledore nodded and sighed.

"Yes, _that_ ring," he answered. "I had not yet figured out a way to properly dispose of it. You saw the consequences of my ignorance."

"To whom did the ring belong that the Dark Lord would hide a piece of his soul in it?" Snape asked. The diary made sense, but a ring?

"It was a ring belonging to Marvolo Gaunt," he said.

Snape was, frankly, surprised with how forthcoming Dumbledore was in giving him the information. Even if he had no clue who Marvolo Gaunt was.

"He was Tom Riddle's great-grandfather," said Dumbledore, answering Snape's unspoken question.

"How is the sword able to destroy horcruxes?" Snape asked, abruptly changing the course of the conversation.

"Harry used it to kill the basilisk and it now carries within it the same destructive properties as basilisk venom," Dumbledore explained simply.

That was certainly fortuitous. Potter may have been able to use one of the snake's fangs in the Chamber, and there were sure to be more where that came from, but those weren't readily accessible to anyone who didn't speak Parseltongue.

Snape drew a breath to speak, but Dumbledore interrupted him.

"Before you ask, I will not tell you my theories as to the other horcruxes. Harry knows and that is enough for now."

With that, Dumbledore fell promptly back to sleep. Or at least gave the impression that he had. Either way, the conversation was at an end.

Snape glared at the portrait, though he knew that he had been given more information than perhaps Dumbledore intended. At least he now knew _why_ the trio was out in the forest. It was a foolhardy mission and he doubted the wisdom of entrusting it to a group of teenagers, but they had made it this far without detection. Perhaps Granger could keep the boys in check long enough to destroy all of the horcruxes, however many there were. Snape shuddered to think of how many more there could be. Voldemort had no attachment to his soul other than knowing of its ability to keep him alive so long as a single piece of it remained. He would have split it as many times as he thought he could before doing irreparable damage.

Thoughts of soul splitting led Snape's mind inexorably to the murder of the now sleeping headmaster. He could vividly recall the conversation he'd had with the man. How he'd asked him if he even cared about the state of his soul. It had stung, Snape hated to admit, to think that Dumbledore hadn't wasted a thought as to the possibility that Snape would have to split his soul in two to fulfill the man's wishes. And Snape still wasn't sure if he had. He had certainly felt something when he had uttered those two words that had changed his life even more than that ugly epithet he had flung at Lily as her future husband used his own spell to humiliate him in front of his classmates. But what did it feel like to split one's soul? He had forced the anger forward to make sure the curse was effective, but the moment the green light had faded, he'd felt empty. The flight from the castle was spent in a haze of disbelief and despondence until Potter tried to engage him in a duel. And that word. _That word._ How _dare_ Potter call him a coward? The boy would have been dead at least five times over had it not been for him. Even now, nearly a year after the fact, his blood still boiled when he recalled the memory.

But his emptiness, his sadness – what were they? Were they simply his own emotions at Dumbledore's death and his own hand in it? Or was that how it felt to split your soul? There wasn't exactly much literature on the matter and he suspected that Granger had gotten a hold of whatever Dumbledore had. He wasn't about to ask Voldemort any time soon.

Snape sighed and walked to his bedroom. He knew he would not sleep, not well at any rate, but at least he could rest his body. Spending the night in the cold, crouched in the bushes was not doing him any favors. He was not as young as he once was and he could already feel the aches and pains seeping into his knees and back. It was an unpleasant reminder of his own mortality. Wizards his age did not feel as old as he did, and nor did they look it. Snape threw off his coat and sat on the edge of his bed as he scrubbed his hands over his face. It certainly was not as pleasant an ending to his day as the previous had been. Trying not to think about the fickle nature of fate, he kicked off his shoes and laid down fully clothed. Shortly thereafter, he fell into a fitful sleep filled with the images of what he would have seen in that locket had he been in Weasley's place.


	32. The Calm Before the Storm

The day following his foray into the Forest of Dean found Snape in the dungeon lab brewing a pain reliever potion for his aching back. He had not yet seen Samantha and was not looking forward to it if she had tried to seek him out the previous night. Even without Dumbledore's prodding, Snape knew he could not tell her what he had done. Were Voldemort to get even a whiff of such a betrayal, death would be the least of their worries. It would, in fact, be a welcome relief to the gruesome torture to which they would be subjected. No, this information could not be passed to the Order; no matter how helpful it may be, if only in restoring their flagging morale. Even with all he knew, his morale had seen better days, which wasn't saying much.

Snape finished the potion as he mulled over all that he'd learned the previous day. After letting it cool just enough to not scorch his mouth and throat, he drank it down and almost sighed as he felt the knots in his back ease.

Heavily, Snape lowered himself to a stool as he placed the goblet into which he poured the potion back onto the table. Leaning an elbow on the counter next to him, he placed his head in his hand and shut his eyes tightly.

But all attempts to simply sit and breathe were all for naught the moment he gave one thought to the upcoming semester. The students would be back in just over a week. Put back in harm's way. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that not a single student would believe that he was the only thing standing between them and the wrath of the Carrows. The other teachers did their best to avoid assigning detentions but, in the end, he was the only one capable of restraining the two. It made him nearly long for the days when the worst the students could fear from him was a night of cleaning cauldrons and a severe tongue-lashing.

Once the pain in his back and knees subsided, he pushed himself up from his stool, cleaned and stored his equipment, and made his way back to his office.

Fortunately, Samantha never did ask where he'd gone on Boxing Day, or perhaps she never even knew that he'd left the castle. If she did, he was glad she never thought to bring it up. At times, he had to admit that it seemed like she instinctively knew what information he couldn't share, or at least when not to ask questions. It wasn't a talent most people possessed and he was endlessly thankful that she appeared to have it in spades. Though he never put much stock in the idea of soul mates, Samantha was certainly the best fit he could hope for.

New Year's Eve arrived just as quickly and unexpectedly as Christmas had done. Snape tried not to think back on what conclusions he had reached on this night one year previous. Of course, the harder he tried, the more it pushed its way into his psyche. The evening had been perfect, at first. Samantha had given him his cherished pocket watch and they had, essentially, made their relationship public knowledge. And then he was summoned to Malfoy Manor where he had heard Voldemort prophesy Dumbledore's death. One year.

Dinner in the Great Hall that night was, to put it mildly, _eventful_. Where Samantha excelled at detecting his moods and knowing when not to push, Alecto Carrow possessed no such insight. Despite even her brother's not-so-subtle hint on Christmas, the madwoman still had it in mind to woo the all-powerful headmaster.

Before Amycus could claim the seat next to Snape, Alecto snatched it up, leaving him sandwiched between she and Samantha. Snape didn't have to be looking at Samantha to feel the very air around her still as her entire body tensed in reaction. He gave her a brief glance, trying to wordlessly plead for her silence.

"I've been looking for you, headmaster," Alecto said in what, he was fairly certain, she thought was an alluring tone of voice.

"I have been busy," he answered in clipped tones, not even sparing her a glance.

"Brewing potions?" She asked, though her tone suggested that she knew full well that Snape had been in the dungeon lab for most of the holiday. Had she actually been spying on him?

Alecto practically simpered as she placed her hand on Snape's forearm.

"You _do_ have a Potions Mistress for such things," she continued.

"There are a lot of potions to brew for this school," said Snape, wondering what kind of fresh hell he was now entering into.

"You did it on your own when _you_ were Potions Master."

Snape finally turned his head to look at her, a sneer on his face, though he remained silent.

Alecto looked past him to Samantha, who was doing a rather poor job of appearing uninterested in the conversation.

"I mean, it's her job, innit?" She asked, still looking directly at Samantha.

"If Severus would prefer to help me brew potions for the hospital wing rather than spend time with you, who am I to stop him?" Samantha offered, rather poorly feigning innocence. Her self-satisfied smirk likewise did not help the situation.

Snape inwardly sighed. So much for keeping her silence.

"Maybe if he didn't have to do your job for you, he'd–"

"Take a hint," Samantha whispered fiercely. "Does Severus seem like the type to pick up others' slack?"

By this point, the pair had begun attracting the attention of their tablemates, so Snape decided to put a stop to their bickering before it got out of hand, which it inevitably would, given who was involved.

"Enough," he snapped in a harsh whisper. "Both of you."

Alecto looked perversely pleased that he had taken Samantha to task, completely ignoring the fact that she had likewise been chastened. Samantha snapped her mouth shut and roughly sat back in her chair. Had Snape wanted the entire castle to hear her outburst, he would have further chastised her for pouting.

Once dinner had finished, there was no revelry to be found amongst the staff and students. The students quickly returned to their houses while the teachers went to their rooms. There really was no point in celebrating the coming of a new year if there was any chance that it could be as horrific as the past had been.

Samantha walked to her quarters on her own with the understanding that she would join Snape within the hour. Much as their relationship was public knowledge, neither felt particularly comfortable flaunting the fact.

No more than an hour later, Snape sat on his couch absently flicking through the pages of a Potions journal as he waited for Samantha. His wait was suddenly at an end, if the bang of his office door hitting the stone wall was anything to go by. Evidently, Samantha was still quite displeased with him. He sighed. So much for an enjoyable New Year.

"Severus!" Samantha yelled from his office.

"In here," he called back resignedly.

The door to his quarters banged open just as loudly as his office door.

"I swear to God, if you do not do something about _that woman_ , I will!" She shouted the moment she was in the room.

Snape turned to face her, a blank look on his face.

"Good evening to you, too," he said simply.

" _Severus_ ," Samantha growled in warning.

"Flattered as I am by your jealousy, I cannot allow a brawl to break out between two of my teachers in the middle of the Great Hall."

"I am _not_ jealous!" She protested hotly. "There is nothing to be jealous of, _is there_?"

"Don't be stupid," he answered immediately. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he knew he couldn't have come up with a worse response. The air seemed to still about her and her face hardened.

Trying to diffuse the situation, Snape approached her and attempted to guide her to the couch. She resisted at first, but relented and allowed herself to be manhandled, gentle though he was about it.

"You know there is nothing to be jealous of," Snape said quietly. "But if I told her exactly what I thought of her, my life would be a living hell. Or more of one than it already is, at any rate."

"And if she should try something?" Samantha asked, crossing her arms over her torso.

"I think I can resist the womanly wiles of Alecto Carrow," he assured her with a roll of his eyes.

Samantha sighed and leaned her head back on the couch. She knew she should feel at least a little guilty for accusing Snape of infidelity, but she wasn't in any mood to acknowledge her faults.

"Come here," said Snape, placing his arm on the back of the couch to allow her room to sit next to him. She did so almost immediately and he suppressed the smugness that came with the knowledge that she seemed incapable of resisting his invitation.

As Samantha settled herself against his side, he draped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, resting his head against hers.

"Now, are you quite finished with your little display?"

"You really are quite terrible at controlling my temper, you know that, don't you?" She asked, but her anger had already subsided.

"So are you," he replied.

She gave a harrumph in response that almost sounded like a laugh.

The pair sat in silence for some time before the atmosphere seemed to change around them. Samantha had placed her hand on Snape's leg and had begun slowly tracing circles on the inside of his thigh. He shifted slightly, feeling himself immediately respond to her touch. And no wonder, he suddenly realized, they hadn't been physically intimate in weeks. While they were physically demonstrative in small ways, they had only slept together a handful of times and didn't snog each other senseless every time they were in a room together. He blamed the war in part, but he didn't think it would be all that different under other circumstances. Truth be told, he thought the infrequency with which they indulged made the times that they did give into their desires all the more pleasurable.

Samantha tilted her head towards Snape's to give him access to her lips. He kissed her softly before slowly sliding his tongue into her mouth. She reveled in the velvety feel of it and sucked gently, drawing a deep groan from the back of his throat. Neither missed the innuendo of her actions and Samantha sensed Snape was imagining exactly what he'd like her to do with her mouth.

With a wicked smile, Samantha straddled Snape's lap and continued to kiss him before slowly sliding down his body to kneel on the floor before him. Snape looked surprised for a moment before he realized what she had in mind. His breathing became shallow in anticipation and he untied his cravat and began to unbutton his shirt as he body began to heat up.

Samantha slid her hands up his thighs to his waist where she unbuckled his belt and began undoing his trousers. He squirmed as she did so.

"Hold still," she said with a soft laugh.

Snape lifted his hips to allow her to pull his trousers and boxers down. Samantha found that he was already fully erect and knew it wouldn't take very much to bring him over the edge. She reached out firmly grasped him, his hips bucking in response.

Slowly rubbing her thumb over the head, Samantha lowered her head as she slid her hand down his length. She flicked her tongue out, finding the sensitive slit and licking up to the pearl of liquid that had already formed in his arousal. Samantha looked up at Snape as she closed her mouth around the head and sucked gently. His eyes were heavily lidded and he gave a whimper as she swirled her tongue around the tip.

"Samantha," he groaned out.

His response was encouraging and she began to move her hand up and down his length as she sucked and licked the now throbbing head of his member.

Snape tangled his hands in her hair and reveled in the almost painful pleasure she was giving him. He had never trusted anyone enough to allow them to do this, but he was quickly becoming fully aware of what all the fuss was about. There was something incredibly arousing about it; some kind of paradoxical pairing of vulnerability and power.

Given his labored breathing and tensing muscles, Samantha sensed that Snape was very close and began to suck harder. Suddenly his entire body tensed and he gave a strangled cry as he emptied himself into her mouth. The moment he did so, the grandfather clock in his study chimed midnight.

Samantha licked him clean and leaned back to look him in the face, a devious smirk on her face.

"Happy New Year," she said in a sultry whisper.

Snape could do nothing but sigh deeply in response. His body felt completely boneless, as if he could simply melt into the cushions upon which he sat.

"That was a good present, then?" She asked as she rejoined him on the couch.

Snape hummed in a response.

"The best I've ever gotten, if memory serves," Snape answered, his voice dark and rough.

"Indeed," said Samantha with a self-satisfied smirk. She knew she wasn't particularly skilled in this department, but she'd never had any complaints and given how languidly Snape was stretched out on the couch at the moment, she concluded that she'd done well enough by him.

The following day Snape had spent some time in Samantha's quarters before she shooed him out so she could get some work done for the upcoming term. As such, he found himself sitting in his study also trying to work, but to no avail. His mind continued to float back to the previous evening.

He still could not fully wrap his mind around all that had changed in what was really a very short amount of time. Truthfully, Snape had always been loath to reflect upon his nearly non-existent romantic history, perhaps first and foremost because it had revolved entirely around Lily Evans. In the past, he'd had no desire in examining that too closely because it was the only thing that kept him going. Now, however, he realized that it had been an almost dangerous obsession. It wasn't surprising, really, considering that she had been the first person to show him kindness. He had always been needy in that regard, even if he never wanted to admit it to himself. He was human, after all, and humans being the social creatures that they are, no amount of posturing and aloofness could alter his basic nature.

All the same, it was a single-minded obsession that bore only the remotest resemblance to love. He needed Samantha, there was no denying that, but there was a reciprocity in his relationship to her that had never been present with Lily. Snape couldn't say that Samantha needed him to the same degree, but she appreciated his presence in a way Lily never did, even when they _were_ on speaking terms.

In the end, however, there really was no comparing the two. He had known Lily only as a child, as their relationship had well and truly fallen apart by the time either had reached any kind of maturity. On the other hand, he ruefully acknowledged to himself, he really hadn't achieved true emotional maturity until fairly recently. And he mostly had Samantha to thank for that. However unwise it was to allow the feelings he'd kept restrained for decades to surface in such dangerous times, he was certain that his memories of Lily, potent as they had been, would not have carried him through the past year.

But though love he now knew it was not, Snape remained acutely aware of his culpability in Lily's murder, and so his sense of obligation to her memory – and by proxy, her son – remained.

Before they knew it, term had resumed and students had invaded the once-quiet castle. The usual troublemakers were surprisingly, almost suspiciously, well-behaved. Snape soberly suspected that it had to do with news of Luna Lovegood's capture making the rounds through the student body. It made them suddenly very much aware of what was at stake and what they risked in challenging the headmaster's authority.

The days passed swiftly, bringing everyone ever closer to some kind of resolution, though no one was quite sure what that would entail. It seemed the whole wizarding world was waiting for Harry Potter to show himself to finally end it all one way or another. Each day that passed without news was another filled with wild speculation. There were rumors that ran the gambit from the death of trio to their absconding to some foreign land and leaving the magical population of Britain to its fate.

Snape knew Potter was not dead, but that was the extent of his knowledge. It did not even begin to alleviate his worry and the black cloud that hung over the school weighed down most heavily on his shoulders.

Everyone in the castle seemed quite surprised to find that Easter break had suddenly come upon them. They had spent so much time simply living from day to day, waiting for something – _anything_ – to happen, that all thoughts of holidays had completely escaped them. The children were particularly wary of boarding the train given what had happened the last time they left for a school holiday, but board it they did and were soon whisked off to London.

Shortly after the holiday had begun, Snape felt his mark burn as he paced around his office. He apparated immediately, not knowing where he was going, and was surprised to find himself at the gates of the school. His heart dropped when he saw Voldemort waiting for him.

"Severus," he hissed out.

"My Lord," Snape responded reverently as he bowed before him.

"Walk with me," Voldemort said abruptly.

Snape straightened and fell into step beside his erstwhile master. As they began to make their way across the grounds, Voldemort asked after the school but showed absolutely no interest in Snape's answers. Suddenly, Snape realized in what direction they were walking and felt his stomach churn when he saw Dumbledore's white tomb come into view.

"Wait here," Voldemort instructed Snape when they were within a few yards of the tomb.

Snape inclined his head, desperately wanting to know what Voldemort was about to do. Was he going to desecrate the grave in an attempt to provoke Potter into coming out of hiding? Snape knew he would not be able to hold down the contents of his stomach if he had to watch Voldemort destroy Dumbledore's earthly remains.

He watched as Voldemort approached the tomb and raised his wand. With a loud crack, the tomb slid open and Snape tried not to wince as the lid simply fell to pieces. Voldemort slowly ascended the steps before looking down into the grave. The triumphant look that came across his serpentine face worried Snape more than anything else he could have done.

Voldemort reached into the tomb and Snape watched as he drew out Dumbledore's wand, which had been buried with the wizard, as was custom. The Dark Lord clutched the wand covetously, maniacal glee contorting his face. Snape had no idea why Voldemort wanted the wand, but he knew with absolute conviction that he had just given the madman access to something incredibly valuable and, invariably, unspeakably dangerous.

This, Snape concluded, was precisely what he did not want to happen. It was clear Voldemort had no intention of destroying the grave to anger Potter; this was something far more important. It was equally clear that things were going to change, and soon. Snape felt the shift and knew without a doubt that the downward spiral had begun.


	33. The End Begins

Snape had no intention of telling Samantha about having taken Voldemort to retrieve Dumbledore's wand. She worried enough as it was and, given that he himself still had no clue as to Voldemort's motives for needing the wand, he wasn't about to add to it. The deceased owner of the wand, however, needed to be spoken with immediately.

"Albus," Snape said loudly upon entering his office, trying to wake the slumbering portrait.

Something in Snape's tone must have struck a chord with Dumbledore, for he woke immediately and his eyes settled on Snape.

"What's happened?" Dumbledore asked, his voice grave.

"The Dark Lord has just paid me a visit," Snape started. "He–"

Snape stopped. While Snape still bore some resentment toward Dumbledore for how thoroughly he’d manipulated him, he still was not entirely keen on telling him that he had allowed Voldemort to disturb his tomb. Dumbledore, however, simply continued to watch Snape, his eyes as searching as ever.

"Has anyone been hurt?"

"Not yet," Snape muttered. He cleared his throat and changed tactics. "Why would the Dark Lord want your wand?"

Dumbledore did not answer, but the stillness that came across his painted form let Snape know just how serious it was.

"Does Voldemort now possess the wand?"

Snape gave a sharp nod. Dumbledore pursed his lips before speaking; clearly he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to answer the question. Snape had seen that particular expression more times than he could count.

"What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?" Dumbledore asked, watching Snape carefully.

Snape furrowed his brow at the question.

"It's a children's tale," he answered, confused as to what Beadle the Bard had to do with Dumbledore's wand.

Snape's eyes widened. _The wand._

"Surely you aren't suggesting that there is any truth to it."

"I am doing just that," said Dumbledore.

"The Deathstick," Snape said in a flat voice. "But I–"

There was a tremor in Snape's voice. He could not believe it. Not when he recalled the events on the Astronomy Tower. He had killed Dumbledore. He was…

"I cannot be," said Snape. "It isn't possible."

"I chose you, Severus, because I knew you would not abuse its power."

His face paled. Voldemort now had the wand. But Snape was its true master.

"Voldemort will think that because he stole it from my grave that its power rightfully belongs to him," Dumbledore answered Snape's unspoken question.

"And what of the other Hallows?" Snape asked, still not quite believing that the story of the Peverell brothers could possibly be true.

"That, I cannot tell you."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the portrait.

"Cannot or will not?" Snape demanded. It was a question he was used to asking.

Dumbledore did not speak, thus giving Snape his answer. He nodded.

"And what if the Dark Lord discovers that he has not become the wand's master?"

A pained look crossed the face of the former headmaster. It was only momentary, but Snape's heart dropped at the sight.

"Let us hope that Harry does what he needs to do before Voldemort can come to that conclusion," said Dumbledore gravely.

"You told me to kill you, knowing that I would become the master of the Elder Wand and left the only assurance of my continued survival in the hope that Potter would succeed in time?" Snape asked, his voice deadly quiet.

"To be honest, I did not intend for anyone to come into possession of the wand. I had thought Voldemort would be concerned with–" Dumbledore stopped himself before continuing.

"With what?" Snape pressed.

"Something I shall not burden you with knowledge of," Dumbledore answered.

Snape huffed in response. Even as a portrait, he _still_ held all the cards.

One week later, the students had returned from their Easter holiday. Perhaps he was imagining it, but Snape could almost swear that there seemed to be a rejuvenation of the resistance he had encountered prior to Luna Lovegood's capture. Samantha had been forced to assign a detention only two days into the resumption of term and, given that he had found her in a crumpled heap on the floor of her office, had not taken it well.

"I had to do it, Severus," she sobbed. "When our house is involved, I can't get around it."

Snape kneeled on the ground beside her and pulled her to his chest.

"We all have to do–"

"Oh, shut up!" She yelled, pushing away from him and shakily rising to her feet. She paced angrily around the office. "I came here to teach Muggle Studies and now, a year later, what am I doing?"

Snape cast a number of silencing and privacy spells as she continued to rant.

"I'm teaching Potions," she said simply. "And what else am I doing? Ah, yes, I'm a _fucking_ spy! Severus, what am I doing? This isn't – I have no talent for this. I'm going to get someone killed; I'm going to get _you_ killed."

Samantha grasped her hair in tight fists and looked all the world like she had completely snapped.

"Samantha," he said gently, as though speaking to a dangerous, but wounded, animal.

She dropped her hands from her hair, but when she turned to look at him, her bloodshot eyes were empty. With a heavy sigh, she placed her hands on her hips and looked down at the floor.

"Would it be better if I left?" She asked in a quiet voice.

When Snape didn't answer immediately, she slowly raised her head, her eyes questioning. Snape was thrown by the unexpected question.

"I could go back to America, they would never find me," she began, the frantic edge creeping back into her voice. "That way I wouldn't have to hurt anyone else. I wouldn't be your liability anymore."

"You can't just leave, Samantha," said Snape sadly. "And they _would_ find you. They always find deserters."

"Severus," she said, her voice broken and full of pain. "He was a second year. Twelve-years-old. A child. And I had to send him to that – _that man._ This isn't even the first time. How many more will there be? How much longer will this last? Because I give myself only weeks."

Snape raised his hands in surrender. It wasn't a gesture he was used to adopting, but it was all he had.

"I don't know," was all he said. "But you cannot leave. How would I explain your absence?"

"How have you done this for twenty years?" Samantha asked in response as she moved toward the door to her private rooms. Snape followed her.

"It was never easy, but it hasn't been twenty years of _this_ ," he explained. "My position with the Dark Lord was not as elevated during the first war and then he was gone. Almost gone, anyway. It was only when Potter started school that it all started to fall apart again."

"Severus," Samantha said with a warning tone in her voice. "Don't blame him for it."

Snape gave her a sour look as he took a seat beside her on the couch.

"And don't look at me like that."

"Then how shall I look at you?"

He was momentarily seized with the impulse pull the silliest face he could think of and, for once in his life, acted upon it.

Samantha stared at him in shock for a moment before she began to shriek with laughter. Truthfully, she seemed more shocked than genuinely amused.

"And I thought there was no longer anything you could do to surprise me," she finally said once she had regained her breath, though giggles continue to escape from her lips. "Honestly, Severus, what was that?"

"It worked, that's what it was," he answered in feigned solemnity before draping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

Samantha curled her feet under her and laid her head on his chest.

"What is he going to do to him?" She asked softly after a moment of silence.

Snape sighed before answering.

"The usual, I assume," was all he said. Neither really wanted to put into words exactly what happened to the students unfortunate enough to find themselves in detention with Amycus Carrow.

"I would say I feel better knowing I'm not the one that has to do it this time," she said, recalling the encounter with the Creevey boy. "But I don't. At least I have some decency."

"I think you have a little more than _some_ ," said Snape jokingly.

The banging on Samantha's office door startled both of them. Immediately drawing their wands, they moved to the office to answer the door, only to find an irate Amycus Carrow.

"The little blighter's gotten free," he growled angrily.

"Who's gotten free?" Snape demanded, stepping between Carrow and Samantha. He didn't particularly like the idea that he was able to find him in Samantha's rooms.

"Where were you keeping him?" Samantha asked before Carrow could answer, knowing that he'd meant Jeremy Pickens, the second year Gryffindor whom she'd assigned detention.

"The dungeons," Carrow answered with a smirk. He allowed himself a moment to relish in the memory of what he'd done before his anger returned. Samantha's stomach turned at the sight.

"You had him chained up in the dungeons?" She asked, incredulous. She was trying not to sound too offended, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Not anymore," Carrow answered as if it were obvious. "Someone's let him loose."

"Well, we had better go and find him, hadn't we?" Samantha said testily, pushing past both men.

They followed her back to the Entrance Hall and split up to search the various floors. Samantha desperately hoped that she or Snape would be the one the find the boy.

Carrow descended to the dungeons, while Samantha claimed the lower levels, and Snape the top floors of the castle. Samantha moved frantically throughout the first, second, and third floors to find absolutely nothing. As she moved up to the fourth floor, she ran into Snape, who was making his way back from Gryffindor Tower. The pair began to walk back down the staircases when, nearing the second floor, they heard a cacophony of voices, two of which were definitely the Carrow siblings.

When Snape and Samantha rounded the corner, they found that the siblings had come upon Pickens and his rescuer, a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Michael Corner, near the perpetually out-of-order second floor bathroom. Alecto had Pickens restrained while her brother was physically beating Corner.

"Amycus!" Snape yelled sharply.

Carrow backed off immediately, but the damage had already been done. Corner's lip was steadily bleeding and his left eye was swelling rapidly. He slumped down to the ground after Carrow released him.

Samantha looked to Pickens, who appeared to be even more terrified now that the dreaded headmaster had shown up. He must have felt well and truly cornered, with four presumed Death Eaters holding his fate in their hands.

"Professor Rhodes, escort Mr. Corner to the hospital wing," said Snape. "We shall deal with him later."

Corner looked up at Snape out of his good eye, showing no fear, but only pure and unadulterated hatred. Samantha silently moved forward to haul him to his feet as gently as she could without raising suspicions. As she and the injured boy moved back down the corridor toward the staircases, she heard Snape's unmistakable voice cast the Cruciatus. She whipped her head back to see who his victim was, only to find Pickens writing on the floor and Alecto cackling with glee. Momentarily stunned, Samantha quickly shook off her revulsion and hurried Corner away to the third floor infirmary.  She couldn’t judge him for it.  She’d done no better.

Word of what had happened must have quickly made the rounds overnight, because by breakfast the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables bore the same dark glowers, aimed squarely at the four black-clad adults involved in the incident. Over the past year, Samantha had been suspect to suspicion, but she had never been on the receiving end of such unbridled hatred. She did her best to appear unmoved by the attention, but could not make it through the whole of lunch before excusing herself.

Despite all their bravado in the Great Hall, the fifth year Ravenclaws in her OWL class that afternoon had enough sense to keep their mouths shut throughout the entire period. The combined Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs studiously attended to their cauldrons of the Invigoration Draught, though there was the occasional nasty look directed her way from the more emboldened – or foolhardy – of the group.

Samantha was simply glad none of them was giving her a reason to discipline them. Amusing though it had been the previous year when she had proudly informed Snape that she'd given her first detention, now she would give anything to not have to give a detention for the rest of her days. She only hoped that the rest of her days last a bit longer than whatever was fast approaching them. She could feel it, they could all feel it. The violence was escalating and the number of missing was steadily rising. It truly felt as though the end was finally beginning.


	34. Into the Night

As March gave way to April, spring overtook the grounds, but the atmosphere in the castle remained dreary and oppressive. There were no impromptu quidditch games after classes and certainly no weekend Hogsmeade visits. But the quiet that had descended upon the student body was deceptive. While no detentions had been assigned in weeks, it was clear from their faces that they were not cowed. They appeared to be biding their time more than having been broken by Headmaster Snape's ironfisted rule.

It was on one of these eerily quiet evenings that McGonagall and Samantha sat in the Gryffindor's quarters sipping tea.

"Have you gotten any news out of him?" McGonagall asked, seeing no need to give "him" a name.

Samantha shook her head.

"Severus has been rather tight-lipped recently," answered Samantha honestly, though she certainly wasn't going to explain that Snape was keeping her out of the loop for her protection.

"And there is nothing you can do?"

Samantha grimaced. However squeamish McGonagall might have been at the start about their supposed arrangement, she certainly no longer had any qualms about pushing Samantha to use her…talents.

"I know I said he has residual feelings for me, but he isn't prepared to sacrifice his life for it. He passes along information whenever it happens to suit him, which is generally when it isn't going to get him killed," she said tartly.

"Well, you certainly don't need to defend him," McGonagall rejoined.

"I'm not! I'm just – look, he hasn't told me anything," Samantha said finally. "It's possible that there is something in that alone. Or he's gotten tired of me. Your choice."

Samantha put her teacup down roughly and stood.

"I have essays to grade," she stated flatly before turning to the door.

Before McGonagall could say another word, Samantha had slammed the door behind her and was striding down the hall toward the staircases.

The following few weeks of classes had an odd atmosphere about them, as if each and every last student fully understood the absurdity of going about their day as if everything was alright. As if their headmaster weren't a murderer, that Voldemort's minions were now their teachers, and that the world as they knew it was not coming down around their ears. Some of them seemed resigned to it, others terrified. Most of the students, though, seemed to be waiting.

And they were not alone in doing so. Samantha could tell from the way Snape was acting around her that things were soon going to end, one way or another.

"Severus," Samantha murmured.

Snape hummed in response as he continued to read the book that lay open in his lap. He was sat in an armchair near the fire in his room while Samantha had curled up in the corner of the couch. His hand lay limply on the arm of the chair and Samantha reached out to twine her fingers with his. He looked up at that.

"Minerva has been pressing me for information," she said quietly.

Samantha watched Snape carefully as he sighed and squeezed his eyes shut before pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"There is nothing for me to tell," he replied, his voice equally subdued. "The Dark Lord is waiting for Potter to show himself, which he inevitably will."

"And then what?" Samantha asked, her quiet tone belying the crushing weight of dread she carried with her daily.

Snape shrugged in response. Samantha gave a small, fond smile at that. It was a gesture of uncertainty he revealed to no one but her.

"And then we hope he's learned something on his little camping trip," said Snape, but his voice was lacking any real venom. He was just as uncertain as anyone else, perhaps even more so. Samantha knew he held no real hope of surviving the war, but she had long since given up trying to dissuade him of the one certainty he did have.

"How much longer can this last?" Samantha asked after a moment of silence.

Her question simply hung the air. Snape had no answer, of course. It all came down to Potter, once again. The moment he revealed himself would be the spark to set events in motion. Snape only hoped he would be able to get to the boy before Voldemort. He had sworn to Dumbledore that he would reveal Potter's true destiny to him at the right moment, but he wasn't entirely sure how long Voldemort would deem his continued existence necessary once the battle had truly and well begun. And Merlin forbid if he figured out that he was not in true possession of the Elder Wand. That would certainly be his death warrant.

Samantha watched as Snape sat silently staring into the fire, no longer paying any attention to her or his book. She gave his fingers a squeeze to bring him back to the present.

"Talk to me," she said simply.

He turned his face toward her, but when she saw his expression, she was no longer sure that she wanted to hear what he had to say.

"It is nothing," Snape assured her, both absolutely aware that he was lying. He tugged on her hand to pull her toward him as he closed his book with his other hand and placed it on the floor. Samantha complied and settled herself on his lap, her head on his shoulder.

"We will make it through this Severus," said Samantha. It was wishful thinking, but saying it aloud somehow made it seem more plausible. "One day, we can just be a regular couple and we won't have to hide anything or lie. We'll just be normal."

Snape snorted and nuzzled his face in her hair.

"We will never be normal."

Samantha laughed softly in response.

" _You_ will never be normal, you mean," she joked. "I am perfectly well-adjusted."

"Whatever you say, dear," he replied dutifully.

Samantha's mood darkened markedly at that. For some reason, his term of endearment, joking though it had been, made her think of the future they might not have together. "Dear" was a term she always thought of as being used amongst old married couples, something she wasn't sure they would ever be.

Even though Samantha had made a show of shaking off her mood for the rest of her evening with Snape, the dark cloud had remained close for days after. She didn't set much store by divination, but she could swear that the ice cold feeling in her gut was more than general anxiety.

Only days later, in what later seemed to be fate's attempt to prove her right, a seventh-year Ravenclaw named Terry Boot came tearing into the Great Hall in the middle of dinner yelling at the top of his lungs that Harry Potter had broken into Gringotts. A hush came over the hall before the students and teachers alike began speaking all at once.

Samantha looked over to Snape, but found that his attention was focused on Amycus Carrow as the man swiftly made his way over to the still yelling Ravenclaw. Before either she or Snape could do anything, Carrow had landed a blow right on the boy's mouth. Samantha gasped and shot to her feet, but stopped herself from moving any further. She watched, realizing once again how Snape must have felt for all these years, as Carrow continued to hit the boy, and knowing that she couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Stay here," Snape said finally before getting up and walking around the head table to stop the beating.

Before Carrow could land another blow, Snape had reached the pair and roughly grabbed Terry by the scruff of his neck.

"With me," he growled, shoving him unceremoniously toward the door.

Samantha knew that he'd done it to forestall Carrow from beating a child to death in front of the entire student body, but it appeared to every other pair of eyes in the hall that Boot was being taken somewhere for more enhanced disciplinary measures.

As Samantha watched the trio leave the hall, McGonagall stood and announced to the students that they were to return to their houses immediately. The children did as they were told, knowing what could befall them should they not.

"What happens now?" Samantha said to herself before following McGonagall out of the hall.

Once the two women were securely in Gryffindor's office, the very same question hung in the air between them.

"Before you ask, no, Severus did not give me any clue that he knew anything about this," she said before dropping heavily into an armchair.

"First the Ministry, now Gringotts," McGonagall said, shaking her head. "Those three could steal the crown jewels if they set their minds to it."

"But why Gringotts?" Samantha asked, not really expecting an answer. "And for that matter, why the Ministry? Why are they breaking into such high profile and, more to the point, high security locations? What are they looking for?"

Samantha stared at the ceiling as the pair reflected on her questions, neither really expecting either one to come to any kind of conclusion.

After nearly ten minutes of absolute silence, Samantha sighed and stood.

"There's no use in us trying to figure this out. I will try to get something out of Severus on what exactly happened."

McGonagall nodded absently as she drummed her fingers on her desk. Samantha nodded once, knowing the woman was completely lost in her own thoughts, and showed herself out of the office.

The moment Samantha entered Snape's office, she knew there was far more to the story. He was pacing almost violently as Dumbledore looked on. Snape stopped short when he saw Samantha.

"What is it? What's happened?" She asked, not liking the look on his face.

"There are reports," he began through gritted teeth, "that Potter's been seen in _Hogsmeade_."

Samantha's mouth formed an 'o' but no sound emerged. There was clearly no other reason for those three to be in the village if they were not on their way to the castle.

"And where are the Carrows?" She asked, wondering why they were not in the office.

"Prowling the halls, hoping to be the ones to find him," he answered gravely. "Let us hope they are not."

"I assume we should be out looking as well, then?" Samantha said, already turning toward the door. "What should I do if I'm the one to find them?"

"Stun them if you have to, just keep them quiet and get them to your office."

Samantha nodded before opening the door, Snape following close behind. Once out of the tower, Samantha remained on the seventh floor, while Snape quickly descended the stairs on his way to the dungeons.

For an hour she searched, checking every passageway she knew of, knowledge she was sure was not as extensive as Snape's, finding nothing. As she moved down the staircase from the third to the second floor, she knew that someone had been found, for there was clearly a duel underway, though who was involved, she wasn't entirely sure.

Samantha heard the crashing glass before she turned the corner to find McGonagall and Flitwick hovering just inside the former Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Samantha ran full pelt toward them, trying to find out what had just happened. When she entered the classroom, she stared with confusion at the broken window.

"What…"

"Snape," McGonagall bit out. "He's joined his master."

With this, the Gryffindor gestured grandly toward the window. Samantha moved further into the room and, as she looked out over the grounds through the broken window, she caught sight of a black figure soaring over the lake. Her mouth dropped open in horror.

"Oh my God," she whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

Samantha watched as the flying black figure dissolved into the night. She leaned for a moment on a desk and then turned back to McGonagall, only to find that none other than Harry Potter had joined them.

Before her sputtering could form words, Harry's shout echoed around the room.

"Professor, we've got to barricade the school, he's coming now!"

Samantha watched as all those around her began to take action. She could do nothing but remain stock still, wondering where her place was in this war. Her mind was made up for her in short order, however, when McGonagall grabbed her roughly by the arm and started marching her down the corridor.

"The Slytherins seem to once more have need of their erstwhile head of house," she said in a low tone as they approached the stairs.

"But Severus is," Samantha began before she fully processed what McGonagall had said.

"Their _temporary_ head," McGonagall responded with a smirk.

Samantha stopped short and nearly sent the pair tumbling down the swiveling staircase.

"Minerva, what about – I mean, what are we going to tell them?"

"Nothing for now," said McGonagall sternly. "Just have the Slytherins in the Great Hall in twenty minutes."

Not trusting her voice, Samantha simply nodded in response and raced down to the Slytherin common room. By the time she arrived, most of the students were already in the common room if not venturing into the corridor beyond it. Samantha shooed the straying students back inside before addressing the whole house.

"There have been developments," she said by way of greeting, knowing the Slytherins would not press her for more information. "Everyone get dressed and be ready to go to the Great Hall in ten minutes."

There was little grumbling as most of the students were eager to discover what these "developments" were and why Carrow was not the one delivering the news. Every member of the house was ready and accounted for in less than the given ten minutes and Samantha shortly had them all at their table in the Great Hall. They did not have to wait for McGonagall's speech to know that the war had the started. They could feel the magic of the layers of new protective spells that had been cast and very plainly see the marching suits of armor making their way through the corridors toward the Entrance Hall.

"Voldemort," McGonagall began deliberately, "is preparing to attack our school this very night. The evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your house and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point."

Whispering quickly began amongst the students, but was just as quickly stifled when a voice rose up from the Hufflepuff table.

"And what if we want to stay and fight?"

There was some applause at this, none of it, Samantha took note, came from her own house's table.

"If you are of age, you may stay," McGongall answered the boy.

"Where's Professor Snape?"

The question, this time coming from the Slytherin table, garnered absolute silence.

"He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk," said McGonagall snidely.

Samantha cringed at the woman's flippancy and the loud cheers that now buffeted her and her Slytherin students from the other three tables.

Just as McGonagall began to further explain what was going on, a disembodied voice began to speak. Most of those who were gathered in the hall had never heard Voldemort's voice before, but none were in doubt that it was he who was speaking.

"I know that you are preparing to fight," he began. "Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood."

As this last word echoed around the Great Hall, the students, whose screaming had only just subsided, stood silent, waiting to see if there was more.

"Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed," Voldemort continued. "Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded."

Samantha squeezed her eyes shut for a brief moment. She'd seen the looks on some of the Slytherins faces and knew what was about to happen.

"You have until midnight," was the final remittance.

All eyes were on Harry Potter, who looked rather like a deer in headlights. Pansy Parkinson stood from the Slytherin table and pointed an accusatory finger at the boy.

"There he is! Someone grab him!" She screeched, jabbing her finger angrily toward the Gryffindor table.

The response was immediate and predictable. Each house stood and trained their wands on the Slytherin table. Samantha fought the urge to roll her eyes. The girl had clearly not taken into account that Snape and the Carrows were no longer there to protect the Slytherins from the rest of the school.

"Thank you, Miss Parkinson," McGonagall said icily. "Mr. Filch, would you kindly take Slytherin House to the dungeons?"

Samantha gaped at the woman.

"Minerva, you can't possibly intend–" She began to protest, but was cut off as McGonagall began speaking with the Order members who had just arrived.

Samantha stared impotently as her house was marched out of the hall to the cheers of the other students. She knew she couldn't go with them and that she had to stay and fight, if only so that she could try to find Snape. Knowing of no other way to express her displeasure, she settled for glaring at McGonagall, which was useless, of course, but it was at least a visible sign that she did not agree with the woman's decision.

Once McGonagall finished her discussion with Kingsley and Flitwick, the troops, such as they were, began to filter out of the hall and take up their stations. As they fell into place, the suits of armor that had been trooping all over the castle finally came to a standstill.

And then there was silence.


	35. The Battle

Voldemort kept his word – for once in his miserable life – and began his attack the moment the clock struck midnight and Harry Potter had not materialized. Samantha had kept to the shadows for as long as she could as the battle raged. She _had_ taken out two Death Eaters since the fighting broke out, but there had been no witnesses. She knew she had to get to Snape before anyone could know of her true loyalties; otherwise she'd be taken before she found him.

Shortly after entering the forest, Samantha caught sight of him. He was speaking with Lucius Malfoy and looked quite agitated. Rather than look straight at Malfoy, his eyes continued to scan the forest. Samantha stayed out of sight until Lucius left. Then, as Snape began moving back toward the grounds, she made her presence known.

"Severus," she whispered as he passed her.

Snape whirled around to face her, his wand out and at the ready. His eyes were cold and calculating before softening as he realized who it was. Rather than responding, Snape pulled her roughly into his arms and held her tightly.

"I must go to the Dark Lord," he said, his voice muffled by her hair. He sounded worried and it scared Samantha more than she could say.

Without releasing her hold on him, Samantha cast a Disillusionment charm and _Muffliato_.

"Why?" Samantha asked, holding him just as tightly as he was her.

"I don't know," he responded honestly. Samantha could swear she heard a tremor in his voice.

Samantha pulled back to look him in the eye. What she saw there was not comforting. There was worry etched all over his face and the look in his eyes was bleak.

Suddenly, they heard the crack of a large branch falling from a near-by tree, likely the result of an errant curse.

Snape pulled out of Samantha's embrace and grasped her upper arms.

"I must go," he said gravely as he relinquished his hold.

"Severus," said Samantha as he began to walk away.

He turned back to face her.

"Come back to me," she said softly, tears beginning to fall from her eyes.

A pained look crossed Snape's face.

"Samantha, you know I can't promise that," he said, the words sounding as if they were forced from his lips.

She took a shuddering breath and nodded.

"I know," she whispered.

Samantha grabbed Snape's hand and pulled him closer so that she could plant a kiss on his lips. He placed his free hand on her cheek and kissed her softly before pulling back. Snape gazed into her eyes for a moment before nodding sharply and hurrying away. For one sickening moment, Samantha got the horrible feeling that they'd just said goodbye.

Rather than lay on the ground and cry until she had no tears left, Samantha gathered her wits about her and decided it was time to find McGonagall. After all, she had to start fighting at some point, and the woman was the only one who knew of her true loyalties and, unlike Kingsley, hadn't required an interrogation to trust her.

By the time she had made her way over the grounds and back to the castle, she barely recognized it. Rubble lay everywhere, due in equal parts to the rampaging giants and the Death Eaters' curses, and the battle looked no closer to ending than it had when she'd entered the forest. Knowing that it no longer mattered what side Voldemort's forces thought she was on, she began openly fighting alongside the Order. She supposed the moment that Tonks and Kingsley saw her kill a Death Eater, no one cared to ask any questions.

The fighting seemed to go on endlessly, but came to a sudden stop when Voldemort's voice swept once more across the grounds.

"You have fought valiantly," he said. "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Samantha might have snorted as his use of the third person.

"Yet you have sustained heavy losses," he continued.

Samantha looked around the courtyard, strewn as it was with bodies and stone alike.

"If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste."

Samantha did roll her eyes at that. Voldemort's skewed definition of what constituted _magical blood_ was the very reason this battle was being waged.

"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately."

The Death Eaters, who had been just as immobile as everyone else, did as their "merciful" master bade them.

"You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."

Everyone breathed a hesitant sigh of relief when it seemed he had finished speaking. But he was to continue.

"I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself," said Voldemort.

Samantha watched as the remaining forces began to scan the crowds for the elusive Potter. She realized herself that she had not seen him or his friends since the battle began.

"I shall wait one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

The battered and bruised combatants slowly began to collect themselves and start to tend to those around them who were in worse shape. Samantha knew that potions would be needed and so made her way to what remained of the hospital ward to collect supplies.

Once she was freshly armed with as many healing potions as she could carry, she returned to the Great Hall where the wounded were being tended to. Bodies lined the walls and Samantha saw with what felt like a stab to the gut that Tonks lay lifeless on a stretcher. What would become of her son? She then caught sight of the Weasley family weeping over a body, which she quickly identified as Fred. George, who looked to be beyond consolation, would surely never be the same.

Samantha did what she could with the limited resources and her equally limited knowledge of healing spells. She could practically feel the minutes tick down to the end of the hour they had been so _mercifully_ given.

Dawn began to break and their hour was almost up, but Harry Potter had not been seen. The remaining members of the trio had made themselves useful in the Great Hall, but they had no answers for McGonagall when she questioned them about Harry's whereabouts. McGonagall seemed suspicious, but it was clear to Samantha that neither knew where the boy had gotten to. It was also clear, however, that something _had_ happened. Something that caused Hermione to glance nervously at Samantha as McGonagall interrogated her and Ron.

Before she was able to corner the girl to drag it out of her, however, Voldemort's voice echoed through the castle.

"Harry Potter is dead," he began.

Everyone stopped suddenly, frozen in place, unable to process Voldemort's words.

"He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone."

Samantha looked to McGonagall, whose face was stricken. She followed her out of the hall and toward the doors of the Entrance Hall, the rest of the castle's occupants following behind.

Even as she heard McGonagall's anguished scream, Samantha could do nothing but scan the crowd of Death Eaters, desperately trying to find Snape's face among them. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what she would do even if she did find him. Harry was dead, his lifeless body lying limply in Hagrid's arms, and he was, presumably, their only hope of defeating Voldemort. Was there any point in resistance? Would she follow Snape if he decided he didn't have a fight left in him? These were pointless questions, of course, until she found him.

As the crowd looked on, Voldemort commanded Hagrid to put Harry's body on the ground in front of him. He began to denigrate the boy, but was interrupted when Neville broke through the crowd, brandishing his wand. Voldemort easily disarmed him.

"And who is this?" He asked.

Neville struggled back to his feet, puffing up his chest defiantly as he stared back at Voldemort.

"Neville Longbottom," he answered more confidently than Samantha had ever heard him before.

Bellatrix Lestrange cackled in response.

"How's mummy and daddy?" she sneered at him.

The boy bristled, but did not respond.

"You are pureblood, are you not?" Voldemort asked rhetorically, knowing perfectly well he was. "You show spirit and bravery. You will make a very valuable Death Eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

Samantha shivered as she listened to Voldemort's words. She could well imagine those same words drawing Snape in, abused and neglected as he was. It made her hate Voldemort even more.

"I'll join you when hell freezes over!" Neville answered. "Dumbledore's Army!"

The crowd cheered in response, but Voldemort looked indifferent.

"Very well," he said coolly. "If that is your choice, we revert to the original plan. On your head, be it."

Both dark and light watched as Voldemort waved his wand. Samantha expelled a sigh of relief when Neville did not immediately fall to the ground. A few moments later, however, she caught sight of something flying through the air toward Voldemort. He held it up triumphantly. It was the Sorting Hat.

"There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts," he announced. "There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone."

As he spoke, Voldemort pointed his wand again to Neville and placed a body bind on him. He strode up to the now immobile boy and roughly put the hat on his head. Stepping back, he brandished his wand yet again.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to oppose me."

With a flick, the hat burst into flames, but Neville was helpless to stop it. He screamed in pain, but before she could even think to move, the battle roared back to life with the arrival of the centaurs. Samantha dropped low to avoid their arrows, and scrambled toward Neville, trying to likewise avoid the lumbering giants. She saw him wrench the hat from his head, shove his hand into its depths and, from it, pull a gleaming sword, its hilt encrusted with rubies. He swung it heavily, but sure, and made contact with his intended victim: Voldemort's snake. The head of the beast fell to the ground while the body writhed before it, too, thudded to the ground.

Samantha could vaguely hear Hagrid yelling Harry's name, but her attention was primarily focused on avoiding the great swarm of magical creatures that had just joined the mêlée. The crowd was thronging toward the castle, spilling into the Entrance Hall. Samantha, however, had been drawn into battle with a group of Death Eaters, who had seemingly only just realized that she was no longer one of them.

The battle continued to surge on the castle grounds, even as combatants continued to flood into the castle itself. One of the many aurors who had shown up as reinforcement joined her fight, but the pair were far outnumbered by the five Death Eaters that surrounded them.

Just as Samantha was corned by three of those Death Eaters, a cheer swept across the grounds. Suddenly, the Death Eaters collectively gripped their left arms, many falling to the ground as they groaned in pain. Samantha whipped her head around wildly; almost unable to believe that what she thought had happened had really just occurred.

"What is it? What's happened?" She asked the auror who had been fighting alongside her.

"It's over, Voldemort is dead," he answered, sounding both excited and disbelieving. "Harry Potter is alive."

Samantha felt a crashing wave of relief come over her, overwhelming even her confusion as to Harry's sudden resurrection, and then she knew that she had to find Snape. Her anxiety doubled as she recalled that she had not seen him since their parting in the forest shortly after the battle had begun. She ran at full speed toward the castle, hoping that he had been present at his torturer's defeat.

"Severus!" She yelled and she ran. "Where is he?" She asked Arthur Weasley in a panicked voice when she saw him walk out onto the grounds. A pained look crossed his face, but passed as he looked over her shoulder. He squinted and then motioned for her to turn around.

"Look," he said, almost not wanting to turn her attention to what he knew would be a gruesome sight. She whipped around to find Kingsley Shacklebolt carrying a mass of black fabric and she felt her stomach drop as her heart lurched to her throat. Quelling the urge to retch, she ran as fast as her weary feet could carry her.

"Put him down!" She demanded. Kingsley did as he was told.

"Samantha, he's not –," Kingsley stopped himself as he heard a soft groan issue from the torn throat of the man he'd been certain was dead.

"Severus," Samantha whispered. "Severus," she said again, louder this time. Snape's eyes flickered open. She could see that he was barely alive, much less conscious. "You're going to be alright, it's all over, everything will be fine," she chanted, though hardly believing it herself. He tried to shake his head. "Stop. You're always so bloody pessimistic."

From inside her robes, she retrieved a blood replenishing potion and held the bottle to his lips. Even as he drank the potion, she knew it would not be enough. No potion would be enough. He had been attacked by Nagini hours ago and the venom had long since wound its way through his blood stream. She flung the now empty bottle away from her.

"Samantha," he choked out. "I came back."

Blood was still seeping out of the wound on his neck, a wound that was making it nearly impossible for him to speak. His normally silky voice was rough and barely audible. She felt him take a shuddering breath that was quickly expelled, his body deflating as it did so. For a moment he looked panicked, but his eyes softened as he looked at her and then slowly lost all expression. She shook him, but his head simply lolled back and forth. His coal black eyes, though open, remained unseeing and lifeless.

"No, no, no, no," she repeated over and over again, growing steadily louder until she was no longer forming any recognizable words.

Her keening swept across the nearly silent battlefield. Friend and foe alike found themselves transfixed by the sight of the grieving and clearly inconsolable witch as she sat on the blood-soaked ground, cradling Snape's limp body in her arms. She pulled her wand on Arthur Weasley as he moved to retrieve the body from Samantha's arms. The wild look on her face made it quite clear that she was not prepared to relinquish her firm hold of him.

"Back off," she growled. Samantha dropped her wand at her side when Arthur, along with everyone else in the general vicinity, did as they were told. She heard some commotion as they left her to her mourning and glanced up to see someone being pushed away from where she was sitting. She hardly cared, though. Her face softened completely when she looked back down at Snape's ashen face. Her tears fell even more quickly as she brushed the hair from his face, only to feel how cold his skin had become. She placed a shaking hand over his eyes and closed his eyelids. She could no longer bear staring into their cold, lifeless depths. The blood had stopped flowing out of his neck, but the damage to her clothing had already been done. She was covered from head to toe in his blood, not that she cared one whit about something so trivial as a few stains.

Samantha had no idea how long she sat there, rocking back and forth as she stared at his body. She did know, however, that by the time she looked up, the grounds were nearly empty. She could hear both grieving and celebratory cheering emanating from the open doors of the castle. Though she didn't want to move him with anything so impersonal as _Mobilicorpus_ , Samantha knew that she did not have the strength, even on her best day, to carry him all the way back to the castle.

Silence greeted her as the revelers caught sight of the levitating body of their teacher, colleague, headmaster, and now fallen war hero. Some looked on almost reverently as he floated by them.

Madam Pomfrey greeted her at the doors to the Great Hall.

"What should I…where–" Samantha's voice broke as she tried to ask what she should do with his body.

"Let me," the Mediwitch said softly as she cast her own spell. Samantha followed her as she levitated Snape's body to join the rows of the other dead lining one wall of the Hall. She knelt at his feet, finding herself incapable of removing her eyes from his lifeless form.  She laid a hand on his leg.

Molly Weasley carefully approached Samantha, having been informed of what had transpired on the grounds by her husband, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Dear, you need to come rest."

"I can't," Samantha responded, sounding both broken and bewildered. She was thrown by her inability to function while knowing that Snape was dead. "I can't," she said again in a low voice, utterly defeated by the weight of her emotions.

She was surprised when none other than Harry Potter came to kneel at her side. And subsequently stunned when she looked at him only to find tears fill his eyes as he looked down at the man who had once been one of his most despised adversaries. His personal grudge against Snape had nearly matched the contempt he held for Voldemort. Perhaps he had felt it even more keenly given their frequent contact and the fact that he had settled the blame for his godfather's death squarely on the Potions Master's shoulders, even if Bellatrix Lestrange had been the one to strike the fatal blow that had sent the last of his family beyond the veil.

"We left him there," he said quietly, his voice full of guilt and grief. "We just left him and we could have saved him. He was still alive."

"Left him _where_?" Samantha asked in a deadly quiet voice. Harry looked at her in surprise, confused by the dangerous edge to her voice.

"In the Shrieking Shack. Nagini bit him," he started to explain, trying to quell the witch's rising rage. "We thought he was dead. I saw it in his eyes."

"Who is ' _we_ '?" She asked, her voice slowly starting to rise. Her eyes narrowed as she waited for him to answer.

"Me, Hermione, and Ron. We went to kill Nagini and Snape was there. He was trying to talk Voldemort into allowing him to return to the battle, but Voldemort killed him so he could have the Elder Wand," he continued in a voice laced with panic. "I swear, we thought he was dead."

Harry's explanation did nothing to stop the anger and resentment growing within her.

"How could you!" She screamed as she got to her feet. "What is wrong with you? You thought it was alright to just _leave_ his body!"

"We didn't know!" Harry cried desperately. "I didn't know! We still thought he was a traitor."

Samantha derisively scoffed at him as she whipped around to find Hermione's stricken face in the crowd, all of whom were staring at Samantha, scarcely believing that she could scream at the boy who had once more become the savior of the wizarding world. But she couldn't help it. The girl had known for hours that Snape lay in the Shrieking Shack and she had said _nothing_.

" _You!_ " She yelled at Hermione, pointing a rigid finger at her. "You are supposed to be smarter than that! How could the _'brightest witch of our age'_ possibly think it right to leave his body behind!"

Hermione's mouth opened to respond, but she had neither the voice nor the words to answer Samantha's accusations. All three of them felt guilty, especially once they'd found out that Snape had been alive when they left him behind. No amount of guilt on their part, however, could assuage the grief and bitterness that engulfed Samantha. She crossed her arms and turned her back on the bewildered crowd.

"All's fair in love and war," she muttered darkly to herself as she stared blindly at the dead bodies lining the room. It bloody well _was_ _not_ fair. She felt as though both she and Snape had been robbed by three idiot children; she of her future happiness with the man that she loved and he of his very life.


	36. O God, The Aftermath

It was with a heavy heart that she cleared out his desk. The house elves could have done it just as well, but she liked to think that he would have preferred she had this job. No matter that a fresh wave of pain hit her with every piece of parchment bearing his handwriting she removed. The first scrap she had pulled out from his top drawer was nothing but a scribbled list of ingredients he'd intended to order from Diagon Alley. But the tears still welled in her eyes as her finger traced the familiar spidery script. She placed everything in boxes; she simply couldn't bear the idea of throwing anything of his away.

Once the top layer of parchment and quills had been sorted, she came upon a small box. Just as her fingers began to open the lid, a scroll popped into existence on his desk.  She surmised that the box must have been charmed to summon the parchment when it was opened. Talented as he was, even Snape would not have been able to achieve such a spell without Filius' help. Samantha was hesitant to read the note, but when she fully opened the box and saw a ring – a ring that would have been much too small for Snape's fingers – her gut told her that it was meant for her eyes. Her hands shook as she unrolled the parchment and the tears started falling the moment she saw her name at the top of the page.

> _Dear Samantha,_
> 
> _If you are reading this letter, then I will not have survived the war. You see, it was charmed to reveal itself to you if you, and only you, were the one to open this box. Given your level of intelligence, I am quite sure you have already figured out what it is. And I am equally certain that you understand why I refused to allow myself to give it to you prior to the Dark Lord's fall. I could not permit myself to make you an even bigger target than you already were._
> 
> _I know that I was_ (she felt her heart drop when she saw that he had originally written "am" and swiftly crossed it out) _a difficult man. Yet, meddling witch that you are, you were able to insinuate yourself into my life and, sickly sweet though this may sound, into my heart. And much against my wishes, at that. I found rather frighteningly early on in our friendship that I would forever need your presence in my life. Even as I struggled to understand it, I was inadvertently becoming more emotionally attached to you than I had been to anyone else in my entire life. Yes, even more than_ her _._
> 
> _And therein is the reason for the ring that you have found (I knew that if you survived, you would surely volunteer yourself for the task of cleaning up my mess). I love you. I sincerely hope I had the chance to say that to you before my demise. If not, you know it now and I beg your forgiveness for not telling you every day since the realization hit me. You know the man that I was and I feel fairly certain that you might understand why I found it out of my power to speak the words aloud, even if you feel cheated all the same. If it is any consolation, I will write it again and say it as I do so. I love you. I know you cannot hear me, but I know you will remember my voice and I know that you can imagine what it may have sounded like. I love you. I could have filled the page with those three words and not have come close to truly conveying the depth of my feeling. Which is why I wanted to marry you. I thought perhaps if I'd had a century to spend with you, I might have had enough time to let it properly be known. You are free to tell Father Matthews of my intentions. He probably knew before I did._
> 
> _Much as this letter may not bear much resemblance to the man I was in life, I found myself quite liberated in the knowledge that this will not have been read had I survived. All the same, I wish I had been given the chance to say these words to you myself._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> Severus
> 
> _P.S. You know I never set much store by it, but I know that it means the world to you, so I will allow you to request some kind of memorial service for me at your church. I know it will make you feel better and because your happiness is more important to me than my own life, I want you to do this. Not for me (I know what kind of afterlife I deserve), but for you._

Samantha found herself beyond tears. She knew that he had felt deeply for her, but she honestly had no idea that it was on this level. She wished she had, as she would have been more fervent in showering him with her affection. He would have complained, but after reading his words, she felt certain that his complaints would have been half-hearted at best and purely for the sake of keeping his reputation intact.

Even taking his liberal use of the dreaded 'l' word into account, she was perhaps even more moved by his postscript. The act of giving her his explicit permission to request a Mass said in his name was more than she could have hoped for. And he was absolutely right. It would make her feel immensely better. And somewhat to her annoyance, she hadn't even had the idea herself. Trust him to one-up her even in death.

Before going any further, she summoned a fresh piece of parchment and very consciously picked up one of his quills to send the request to Father Matthews (who was, thankfully, past being totally unnerved by the experience of owls expecting payment in treats for dropping off scrolls at the rectory). Before dispatching the owl, she told the bird to wait for a response (something that had previously equally unnerved him), so that she could make plans to attend. Time would also have to be set aside, she knew, to talk to the priest. He had liked Snape, even though he had only met him twice.

Samantha spent the rest of the evening cleaning out Snape's office. She decided she wouldn't bin the pickled creatures, but they would certainly henceforth hold a less exalted location. Soon enough the owl returned, holding Father Matthews' response in its claws. Samantha retrieved the missive and sat down to read his reply. It was short, containing nothing more than a couple of suggested dates and condolences on her loss. She knew it wasn't insincerity on his part, but rather that he was certain that she knew without his saying that his consolation would be offered in person.

She looked at her calendar to pick a date and sent the owl back. Although she doubted any other Hogwarts resident would want to attend, she decided that she would alert the headmistress as to her plans so that any who wished to come could.

The seconds, minutes, and days ticked by more slowly than she had even thought possible. McGonagall had sent out owls to the surviving Order members to inform them of the upcoming memorial service for Snape. Samantha was shocked to find that a fair few had it in mind to attend, including – rather inexplicably in her mind – the Golden Trio. It was decided that the Mass would not be announced publicly and that the more famous of the attendees, as well as those who seemed incapable of wearing normal Muggle attire, would have to arrive with Disillusionment charms intact so as not to attract the attention of any unknown magical folk or unsuspecting Muggles in the vicinity.

The day finally arrived and Samantha was joined by McGonagall as they made their way to the gates and apparated to her usual point in the church's graveyard. She was surprised to see that the church was nearly half full. She had not expected so many to attend and was somewhat nervous about the kind of attention the church may end up garnering in the future should the _Daily Prophet_ get wind of it. Still, she remained pleased that so many were willing to give up a Saturday morning to remember someone who many of the assembled congregation had not particularly liked in life.

Due to the fact that she was, aside from Hermione, the only Catholic present, Samantha had taken it upon herself to draw up a pamphlet of sorts that would explain the proceedings. As she made copy after copy to hand out at the back of the church, she wondered why she had requested a Mass and not a simple memorial service, though it was rather a moot point by then.

During the service itself, she found most attendants to be confused by the many actions that made up the Mass. Others, Harry most interestingly, looked contemplative and perhaps even soothed by the sweet scent of incense and the somber tones of the cantor. Samantha was reminded of the Midnight Mass she and Snape had attended together. It felt like it had been decades since then.

Samantha found it strange that she didn't shed a single tear during the whole of the Mass, not even when Father Matthews had spoken Snape's name during the Intercessions. She had imagined that she would be a blubbering mess, but instead, though not unmoved, was entirely composed. Perhaps it was because she already felt rather exposed by the raw emotions she'd shown when she saw Snape's nearly lifeless body as it was brought out of the Whomping Willow. Or perhaps it was because she was simply too tired to put such emotions on display again. She certainly felt as though she hadn't a tear left to cry.

As the attendees began to filter out at the end of the Mass, she lagged behind, still not ready to leave.

"Professor?" Hermione said quietly. Apparently she was not prepared to go either. Samantha looked up at her from where she sat in the pew. The girl looked tired and, in all honesty, like she had been crying. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement and turned to head to see that Harry had remained as well.

"Hermione and I are going across the street to the pub," he explained. "I…I want to talk to you about," he gestured vaguely toward the altar, "him."

Samantha knew he meant Snape. She nodded, also seeming to understand why Harry wanted to pick her brains about the late Potions Master. She knew that he had come to realize just what it was that Snape had done for him and he genuinely wanted to know the man, through the perspective of those who knew him best, who had saved his life.

"I'll be there in a moment," she said, her voice sounding rather thick and rusty to her ears.

Hermione put her arm around Harry's shoulders and guided him out of the church. Samantha watched them for a moment and then turned her head back toward the front of the church. She stood and walked toward one of the side chapels that flanked the sanctuary. She lit a candle and knelt in one of the terribly uncomfortable pews. She hadn't a clue how long she remained in that position, but she did know that when she stood, her knees cracked like those of a woman three times her age.

As she turned back towards the door, she saw that Father Matthews had been sitting in a pew, waiting for her to finish.

"Father," she said in a tired voice, though warm all the same. He had a way of lifting her spirits by his mere presence.

"My dear one," he said, the sympathy clear on his face and in his voice.

He extended an arm, gesturing for her to sit beside him. Samantha sat and rested her head against his shoulder. Father Matthews kissed her forehead and stroked her hair.

"He was taken from me, Father," she said quietly. "We had our whole lives ahead of us. Decades at least."

The priest took a breath to speak.

"Please don't say God has his reasons," Samantha interjected before he could say anything. "You know that has never worked on me."

"Yes, that I do know," he answered sadly. "But I don't want you regretting loving him. He died knowing he was loved, Samantha, and that is as much as any of us can ask when our time comes. And it is far more, I suspect, than he had ever expected before he met you."

"It didn't hurt this much when Mark died," Samantha said in a whisper, feeling immensely guilty for it.

"You also didn't go through a war with Mark," Father Matthews pointed out. "War has a way of intensifying everything. That is not to say, of course, that you would have loved Severus any less were things different. You and Mark were well suited – I would not have married you were you not – but you found in Severus a man who needed your love in a way Mark did not. He needed it, needed _you_ to survive."

Samantha should have been surprised at how perceptive Father Matthews had been, having only been casually acquainted with Snape. But she also knew how adept he was at reading others. And, of course, he was absolutely right. She had loved Snape in a different way because he demanded something different of her than Mark had. Her relationship with Mark had been genial. With Snape, it had been a matter of life or death.

"How do you always know what I need to hear?"

She heard her priest chuckle quietly before he glanced heavenward.

"God knows what I need to say," he answered with a smile.

The pair stood and hugged before Father Matthews walked back to the sacristy to change out of his vestments.

Samantha slowly made her way out of the church. Before she exited, she dipped her fingers into the holy water and crossed herself. After sucking in a cleansing breath, she stepped out of the cool darkness of the church and into the bright midday sun. She let the breath out and nodded to herself. She saw Harry and Hermione in the window of the Boar's Head and purposefully headed their way. Her grieving was far from over, but for now, this would have to do.


	37. Epilogue: Keep Calm and Carry On

Samantha had almost said no when Headmistress McGonagall asked her to permanently fill the post of Potions Mistress and Head of Slytherin. _Almost._ She felt it very difficult to give up the kind of job she'd dreamt of having. She also felt she owed him. Well, she felt that _everyone_ owed him. While Harry Potter may have been the one to do the deed, it was Snape who had made the ultimate sacrifice. Both in life and in death. But she also felt herself reluctant to leave the physical space they had shared, much as she felt an unbearable sadness every time she even glanced at the door to what had become _their_ lab.

And so she relocated to his quarters in the dungeons. Although she had already cleared the space, she swore his presence remained. Samantha fervently wished that his scent would never leave, despite the fact that her throat tightened every time she became aware of it.

The Sorting Feast was somber. Many of the older students and the surviving professors noticed the faces that should have been there, but weren't. By that point, the collective wizarding world had been made aware of her relationship with Snape by way of an enterprising _Daily Prophet_ photographer who had managed to snap a photo of her last moments with Snape. She couldn't tell what the students thought of her for it, especially the older ones who had dealt with Snape's particular teaching techniques for a number of years. The reaction of the Slytherins – _her_ Slytherins, she reminded herself – was particularly hard to read. She had her answer in short order, however, when she finally returned her attention back to McGonagall's opening words.

"I would like to announce that Professor Rhodes has agreed to continue on as Potions Mistress as well as take up the position of," Samantha could have sworn she heard a hitch in the headmistress' throat, "Head of Slytherin House."

Samantha had no idea she was holding her breath as she raised herself out of her seat and gave a short nod before sitting back down. It came rushing out when she heard the meager applause begin to swell. Soon, all of those who were now _her_ Slytherins, even the first years who had just been sorted, were standing and making well known their approval of their new head of house.

It was when Harry, whom Hermione had somehow coerced into coming back to finish his seventh year, stood to join his once sworn enemies in congratulating her that the rest of the hall's occupants felt obliged to do the same. She was, well, she didn't really know how to put it. Proud seemed to fit the bill. Not for herself, but for him. She knew the adulation had much less to do with her than it did with his legacy. They had all come to see the reasons for his actions and realized that it wasn't out of malice or contempt (well, he _was_ contemptuous and could be malicious when he'd wanted to, but that was somehow forgotten in the immediate afterglow of victory), but for their protection.

And do her best, she did. Slowly, all those students who had known Severus Snape had graduated and, although his name still garnered immediate recognition, first-hand knowledge of the man himself had left the student body. He was never far from Samantha's mind, however. Even when she was at her most stressed by some students' lack of progress, she had a smile on her face as she muttered about what dunderheads they were. The sadness was still there; she knew that would never fade. But she found that bringing to mind even the most mundane of his habits, however much they had often irritated her while he lived, could bring a smile to her face, watery though it sometimes was.

It was twenty-one years to the day of that first Sorting Feast she had attended with Snape, when she had first caught a glimpse of the famous Boy Who Lived, that she had experienced the first public display of emotion since Snape's death on the battlefield all those years ago. Now serving as Deputy Headmistress in addition to her duties as the Head of Slytherin and Potions Mistress, she lined the first years along the steps leading up to the head table in order to have them sorted.

She flew through the list rather mindlessly, though did give acknowledgement to those sorted into her own house, until she stumbled over one name.

"Albus S –," she had barely hissed out the first letter before she lost her voice.

She hadn't realized the boy would name his son after him. She also hadn't realized how long it had been since she'd spoken his name aloud. It must have been over a decade, something she made sure she would later chide herself for. The boy had already taken a hesitant step forward, but stopped as soon as he realized the rest of his name had not been announced. He looked positively terrified. She gulped, took a deep breath, and continued, her voice and hands plainly shaking.

"Albus Severus Potter."

He sat on the stool, shaking just as much as she was as she placed the Sorting Hat on his head. She watched him intently, wondering just what was being said. A stricken look crossed the boy's face, but he seemed to have swiftly made up his mind on the matter and a look of determination settled on his thin, pale face. The hat had made its decision.

"Slytherin!"

An audible gasp swept throughout the hall, which was followed by absolute silence. Samantha stepped forward to pluck the hat from the boy's head. He slid off the stool and slowly turned around to face her. He looked apprehensive, as though searching for her approval. Curious reaction.

"Off you go, Mr. Potter," Samantha said, nodding toward the Slytherin table.

He nodded, looking slightly crestfallen, and turned to go.

"And Mr. Potter?"

The boy looked at her over his shoulder.

"Professor Snape would be very proud to have you in his house," she said quietly, a sad smile on her face.

Potter positively beamed before bounding down the steps to greet his cheering housemates.

Samantha felt a rush of air leave her lungs. The Sorting Feast continued relatively uneventfully, the Weasley girl was unsurprisingly sorted into Gryffindor, while Draco Malfoy's progeny was swiftly sent to Slytherin. Samantha, however, had stopped paying attention. The only thought running through her mind was that she was ready; ready to speak to the portrait that she had avoided for nearly twenty years.

The moment dinner was over, she asked McGonagall if she could have a moment in her office. The woman nodded, a knowing and sympathetic smile on her face. They'd had this discussion more than once over the years and she knew as well as Samantha that it had been long enough. Too long, perhaps.

She slowly made her way up the innumerable staircases to the headmistress' office. Along the way, students quietly greeted her, some of the older ones likely having heard her story from past students and parents, or even books published on the events. She still couldn't believe her relationship with Snape had made it into print. Samantha was sure the melancholy showed on her face and, while somewhat unnerved by the students' sympathy, it was comforting in its way. It was something she would certainly be mentioning to Snape. She could picture his reaction clear as day.

Finally, after allowing the staircase to bring her to the office door, she placed a hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath before pushing it open. Stepping into the office, she quickly found Dumbledore's portrait watching her closely, seeming to know what she had come to do. She locked eyes with him and he nodded slowly.

Samantha felt as though she were moving in slow motion as she walked further into the office. Stepping around a column flanking the steps up to McGonagall's desk, she finally came face-to-face with a portrait she had not been able to bring herself to look at for two decades. He looked the same as he always had, she thought ruefully. For a moment, she almost didn't want him to see her as the aged woman that she was. It was silly, really, for she knew that he'd seen her over the years, even if she'd been incapable of setting eyes upon his portrait.

Looking up into the familiar black eyes, Samantha smiled. She could already feel the tears welling up and blinked rapidly to keep them at bay.

"Severus," she said in a whisper, her voice thick with emotion.

"Samantha," he answered, his voice just as she remembered it. It was enough to send the tears streaming down her cheeks.

He wasn't smiling, per se, but he really needn't have done. The look in his eyes, painted though they were, was all she needed to see. She knew that portraits didn't retain every aspect of their once-living counterparts, but the look in his eyes conveyed enough emotion to remind her of how he'd looked at her in life.

Samantha used her wand to levitate one of the armchairs from in front of the fireplace over to where she was standing in front of Snape's portrait. She slipped off her shoes as she sat down and curled her legs under her.

"I have so much to tell you."

**FIN**


End file.
